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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311189">The Lion of Highgarden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill'>winterkill</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathtub Sex, Brienne does experience some book-level harassment, Canon - Book, Chivalry, Competence Kink, F/M, Fluff, Frottage, Jaime is thirsty immediately and I love that for him, Jousting, Olenna is an utter fucking delight, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Period-Typical Sexism, Praise Kink, Smut, The opposite of a slow burn, Tournaments, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, and a whole lotta Westerosi gender commentary, background Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell - Freeform, background Renly Baratheon/Margaery Tyrell, because Brienne is a badass, but it's mostly just Randyll Tarly, but you get Olenna-influenced Jaime to balance it out, this fic is me filling a kink bingo card, used unironically in this case</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:40:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,811</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311189</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tywin sends Jaime to be fostered at Highgarden under the watchful eye of Olenna Tyrell. After slaying the Mad King, Jaime flees to Essos, and the stories around him grow more fantastic as the years pass. When Olenna summons him to Highgarden for Margaery's wedding to Renly Baratheon, Jaime meets sword-wielding Brienne of Tarth, who might just be his match.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>901</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Jaime I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbiddenfantasies/gifts">forbiddenfantasies</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a gift for forbiddenfantasies, who wanted a fic where Jaime was raised at Highgarden. I felt inspired, so enjoy (hopefully?) all 45,000 words. Right now, this fic is set at fourteen chapters. I've got ten chapters written, so you can expect Sunday updates.</p><p>I've tagged this as book canon, but it's quite AU, so it doesn't matter much beyond the characters' ages and my personal preferences.</p><p>There's quite a bit of canon-typical sexism and some sexual harassment, but nothing more explicit than Brienne recounts in her <i>AFFC</i> chapters. It mostly occurs in dialogue, and it's usually Randyll Tarly being a piece of shit human being. I did want to make mention of it, just in case.</p><p>I hope everyone enjoys the first chapter!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaime returns to Highgarden a sennight before Margaery Tyrell is to wed Renly Baratheon. If Olenna’s letter arrived a day later, or his ship across the Narrow Sea hadn’t caught a favorable wind, he might have missed the entire affair.</p><p>The Queen of Thorns has always been remarkably adept at finding Jaime. Her letters arrived sporadically over the years--in Dorne, in Volantis, in Braavos, or wherever Jaime flung himself to avoid the moniker of Kingslayer. For the first few years, Jaime was <em> certain </em> Olenna had someone tailing him and sending intermittent progress reports, but he’d never found any evidence of such. Jaime half wonders if, somehow, he made it all the way across the Bone Mountains to Yi Ti or to the unexplored jungles of Sothoryos, if Olenna would find him there, too. </p><p>Both would <em> certainly </em> be a one-way trip, but it would test the limits of his theory.</p><p><em> Maybe they speak of me even there. </em> Jaime heard much talk of himself in the years since he left King’s Landing. Some called him the Lion of Lannister, others the Lion of Highgarden, others just Kingslayer. He killed the Mad King, was either reviled or lauded for the deed, and spent a decade and a half trying to outrun it. Jaime didn’t want to be a hero; he didn’t need praise, but the judgment of ignorant strangers sat, bitter and festering, in his stomach.</p><p>All three monikers took on a life of their own as the years passed and the tales spun grew more outlandish. The Kingslayer was ruthless as a Dothraki on the battlefield, assassinated a highborn councilman from Meereen and freed his slaves, was the kept lover of some beautiful woman in Lys. Some even said he wielded a lost Valyrian steel sword.</p><p><em> There’s a grain of truth in everything, </em>Brightroar is wrapped in cloth and tucked amongst Jaime’s belongings. The lost greatsword of House Lannister is too large a blade for his preference, but he had used it enough for word to spread. He wonders if his father has heard the lost blade was found, and if he would even believe the tale if he had.</p><p>Jaime was in Lys when Olenna’s letter, coiled tightly and sealed with a wax stamp bearing the rose of house Tyrell, arrived at his lodgings. He gave the parchment a wry smile before unfurling it. It would be stowed amongst his things as all her other letters were. Olenna would accuse him of sentiment, just as she had when he first arrived at Highgarden with a brooch belonging to his mother amongst his belongings.</p><p>Jaime still remembers what Olenna said to him when she saw him clutching it in his palm in her solar. “Sentiment can herald the death of a man.”</p><p>“It was my mother’s,” Jaime had replied. </p><p><em> It’s all I have left. </em> His mother was dead, and his father sent him away. Jaime missed Cersei terribly, used to being with her always. He wondered if she, too, felt like half of her had been wrenched away. <em> Incomplete. </em></p><p>“And that’s well enough,” Olenna replied, “but you look like you’re about to weep. Sometimes, things like that must be hidden.”</p><p>“Tears are a weakness.” His father said that, and Cersei agreed. </p><p>“Not necessarily, but you can’t always wear your heart on your sleeve.”</p><p>Jaime had clutched the broach tighter and replied, “Mother’s only been gone four moons, and I was sent away.”</p><p>“Were you truly so happy at Casterly Rock?”</p><p>Jaime considered the question for a long, long moment and replied, “I...don’t know.”</p><p>It’s the first of scores of memories Jaime has in Olenna’s solar; he thinks of them as he reads.</p><p>
  <em> Ser Jaime Lannister: </em>
</p><p>Jaime hasn’t seen Olenna in over three years, but he can <em> hear </em> her voice as he reads. The salutation is certainly her way of reminding Jaime of a vast array of things--his heritage, the duty and title he runs from, and his knightly vows. Some of the reminders are <em> certainly </em> tongue-in-cheek. </p><p>
  <em> Margaery is to be wed to that silly Baratheon boy. He and his company are coming from Storm’s End at midsummer. Mace arranged the match, and as his only daughter, you can imagine the production it will be. It would look odd if you weren’t in attendance, considering your position and the number of years you endured our hospitality. </em>
</p><p>“I’m never in attendance,” Jaime muttered, as though Olenna would manifest from the ink and argue with him.</p><p>
  <em> Additionally, I received a letter from your lord father this past moon, asking after your whereabouts. I informed him that I hadn’t the faintest notion of where you might be at present. Lord Tywin might be austere company, but the point he makes about your absence in Westeros as of late is a fair one.  </em>
</p><p>“That last bit was unneeded.” Thankfully, Jaime had taken the letter up to his room, and no one would see him antagonizing a piece of parchment.</p><p>Now, a moon later and sorely in need of a bath and a change of clothes, Jaime pats Honor’s flank. Honor is a fine mount--a brown and white dappled courser with an amenable disposition. Jaime hasn’t named a horse since he was a boy; horses often died in battle, and Jaime tired of his grief from it. Despite this, the name entered his mind on a whim and entertained him on the Roseroad, so it stuck.</p><p>
  <em> Perhaps I need some attachment in my life. </em>
</p><p>Jaime surveys the bounty of the Reach laid out before him, orchards and fields as far as the eye can see. It’s the height of summer; Highgarden’s white spires and tiered walls sparkle in the sunlight. The Mander winds its way slowly, and several barges can be seen on its waters. <em> So green. </em>He thought so as a boy, too--that Highgarden looked like a castle out of a storybook their mother might read at bedtime. Though he’d been deeply homesick, he'd been excited by the majestic sight of the castle, and that the Reach was the place in the Seven Kingdoms where knighthood and chivalry were most valued.</p><p>Now, returning to Highgarden feels more like coming home than seeing Casterly Rock in the distance would, so Jaime rides on.</p>
<hr/><p>Being summoned to Tywin Lannister’s solar was never a good thing. For Jaime, who wanted to be in the training yard with Addam Marband or riding a horse, it meant boredom. His father would make him sit for hours with Casterly Rock’s maester reading old and boring texts. As Jaime stumbled over the letters needed to form the words, each moment was torture.</p><p>
  <em> I’m going to die in this room. </em>
</p><p>Of course, the long afternoons always ended, eventually; a boy of eight summers didn’t have the best sense of time.</p><p>Jaime remembers the final time being called into the solar; he’d just beaten Addam at sparring and was quite cross at being interrupted. As usual, his father was facing the window when Jaime entered, hands clasped behind his back and looking out at the sea.</p><p>“Father,” Jaime called out.</p><p>Tywin turned and strode the few steps to his dark, wooden desk. He was an imposing man, but the desk heightened the effect.</p><p>“Jaime.” His father always said his name like a command, even before making his decree known. “I’ve been corresponding with Lady Olenna Tyrell.”</p><p>Unsure of what to say, Jaime waited in silence. Certainly, this had nothing to do with him.</p><p>“You’re to be fostered at Highgarden.”</p><p>Forgetting his fear, Jaime blurted “What?”</p><p>“You’re too close with your sister,” his father continued, “Your mother is concerned and thinks it better if you’re apart.”</p><p>A fortnight before, a maid caught him in Cersei’s bedchamber and told their mother. <em> We were only playing. </em>That’s what Cersei said, but it hadn’t mattered. Jaime was given a new room at the opposite end of the hall, and a guard was always between them.</p><p><em> I’ll find a way</em>, Cersei told him, but she hadn’t yet. Jaime missed her terribly, but she was far more clever than he, so he believed her.</p><p>“We’re twins,” Jaime responded. </p><p>“You’re my son,” Tywin replied, “I’ll not have you trading places with Cersei and learning embroidery, nor her wearing breeches and learning the sword. You’ll go to Highgarden in the hopes of becoming a squire for a knight there. Eventually, you’ll be wed to one of Lady Olenna’s grandchildren and return here to assume your place as the Lord of Casterly Rock.</p><p>“We were just playing,” Jaime pleaded, “Father, don’t make me go.”</p><p>It was futile, of course; Jaime already knew his fate was sealed.</p>
<hr/><p>Jaime has barely handed Honor off at the castle livery before a boy, dressed in a green jerkin affixed with the golden rose of house Tyrell, runs at him full-tilt calling his name.</p><p>“Ser Jaime!”</p><p><em> Anonymity was a fool’s hope. </em>Olenna’s timeless, all-seeing gaze probably spotted him leagues away from Highgarden. </p><p>The boy is doubled-over and panting. “L-Lady Olenna--she summons--”</p><p>“Calm down,” Jaime raises a hand and waves dismissively, “That’s what I assumed. I’ll go now if she doesn’t mind that I reek of the road and horse.”</p><p>The boy gives a vigorous nod, and Jaime trails after him, trusting that his possessions, with the exception of Brightroar, will find their way to his room. He keeps the sword in its scabbard and the hilt wrapped with cloth. The last time Jaime visited Highgarden, his boyhood room looked like he just left it to chase Willas around the yard with a practice sword, even though he hasn’t lived here for half his life.</p><p><em> A formative half; almost more so than Casterly Rock. </em> </p><p>Highgarden is <em> at least </em> as large as the Lannister ancestral seat, but not nearly as imposing. Where Casterly Rock was a monolith rising above the Sunset Sea, Highgarden, composed of three tiered walls, was more sprawling. Casterly Rock had dark passages cut through rock, and Highgarden had labyrinthine hedge mazes and orchards.</p><p>Jaime, for all his grief at being sent away, always found Highgarden more hospitable.</p><p>The boy leads Jaime through the castle, past stained-glass windows and over marble floors polished enough to see his reflection. He could find Olenna’s solar in his sleep, but the page doesn’t deserve to be scolded for Jaime brushing him off. Erryk and Arryk stand guard on either side of the two doors; they nod to Jaime in recognition before opening them.</p><p>Olenna’s solar is unchanged--the same brocade chairs and light wood furniture. The windows are open, allowing the warm summer breeze blowing across the Reach to blow the gauzy curtains. The upper transoms of the windows reflect patterns of gold and green on the floor.</p><p>The Queen of Thorns is seated in her usual chair in the center of the room. There’s a tray with a tea set, certainly something floral, and a plate of cookies. The scene looks just as inviting and placid as Olenna surely means it to.</p><p>“You’ve returned, Jaime,” Olenna says, “the tales about your travels grow stranger each time you leave us. Is that a <em> sword </em> you brought into my solar?”</p><p>“If you saw it, you’d know it’s not something to leave in the hands of another.”</p><p>Olenna sighs, “You men and your <em>swords.” </em></p><p>“You summoned me,” he replies, “and I’m here. Would you prefer I left?”</p><p>“No. Although, given your propensity for <em> not </em> answering my letters, I couldn’t be certain.”</p><p>“You’ve never asked me to write back.”</p><p>Olenna gives him a toothless smile; Jaime tries to decide how aged she looks compared to three years ago. “One day, I will die, and perhaps you’ll wish you visited more.”</p><p>Jaime laughs, “I’m certain you’re immortal.”</p><p>“If only; I dread to think of the ruin this house will fall to when my oaf of a son is in charge,” she gives a raspy chuckle. “That’s enough to keep my heart pumping.”</p><p>Mace is already the head of the Tyrell house, but everyone knows who <em> truly </em> pulls the strings. Even since Willas was injured during a tourney in his boyhood because Mace forced him to tilt, Olenna controlled his hand even more. <em> Before the dottard gets all his children killed winning useless glory. </em></p><p>“Then there’s no need to hasten my return home.”</p><p>Olenna raises her hand, skin spotty with age, and beckons Jaime closer. He obeys and occupies the chair adjacent to her.</p><p>“Boy,” Olenna tuts, “Is that how you greet me?”</p><p>Sighing, Jaime rises again and leans down to press a kiss to Olenna’s cheek; the skin feels papery under his lips. </p><p>“You smell like horse,” Olenna says, “and why have you grown a beard?”</p><p>“Because shaving on the road is a hassle,” he replies, “and you smell like rosewater and death.”</p><p>Olenna laughs once more, “Better than a stable.”</p><p>“I was riding one for a fortnight.” Jaime returns to his chair. “It’s your fault for summoning me the moment I arrived.”</p><p>“I’ll set you free in just a moment. Take some tea first.”</p><p>“As you wish.”</p><p>Jaime wants water, or a flagon of ale, not floral tea, but there was little point refusing Olenna two decades ago, and there’s little point now. The tea’s scent is cloying, and the cookies dissolve immediately when dipped.</p><p>“One of my children should be marrying <em> you,” </em> Olenna says after a moment. “If only my fool of a son and his wife had more daughters.”</p><p>“Most men don’t wish for an abundance of daughters.”</p><p>“Most men are idiots,” she sips her tea, “but you’re <em> less </em> of one and would’ve been a sufferable goodson.”</p><p>“I knew Margaery when she was a babe at Lady Alerie’s bosom; I'm much too old.”</p><p>Olenna scoffs, “When has that ever mattered? Luthor was a great deal older than me, and I loved him as well as I would any man. You’d be a finer choice than the Baratheon fool.”</p><p>“The Kingslayer is a finer choice?”</p><p>Jaime, even if he had been present, would’ve refused. Cersei was the only woman he ever wanted to marry, and that feeling died long ago. While he’d known others, none rose to the ardor he felt for his sister. Jaime suspects the emotion lost to him, and he’s tried to make peace with the solitude.</p><p>“I’d never fault you for killing a man who needed to die, regardless of the side my son took in Robert’s Rebellion.” Olenna sighs. “When Margaery goes to Storm’s End, you’ll be the only one left here with any sense.”</p><p>“Who says I’m remaining after the wedding?”</p><p>She smacks Jaime’s shin with her cane. “Half of the Seven Kingdoms are coming here for this mummer’s farce, and I don’t care to be irritated by the questions your absence will merit if you vanish in the night. Even King Robert is here and already lodged in the finest guest chambers.”</p><p>“Is...my sister with him?” The idea of seeing Cersei feels like rocks settled in his stomach. He hasn’t seen her since her wedding to Robert when she refused <em> his </em> proposal. </p><p>Olenna tilts her head knowingly. </p><p>“The queen sent her regards, but elected to remain with her children in the capital,” Olenna replies. <em> “I </em>wouldn’t want to watch my lecherous husband drink and fuck his way through the kitchen maids, either.”</p><p>“I don’t wish to see Robert, either.”</p><p>“You’ll remain for a bit, boy, if I have to lash you to your bed to keep you here. Besides, where would you go? To your sister in King’s Landing?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Good. To Casterly Rock?”</p><p><em> It’s mine to take. </em> His father will be waiting quite a while. If he had any sense, he’d choose Tyrion as his heir.</p><p>Eventually, Jaime responds, “No.”</p><p>Olenna taps her cane on the stone floor, “Enough roaming. You’ve a good head on your shoulders; I made sure of that. It’s time to <em> do </em> something with it.”</p>
<hr/><p>Once dismissed, Jaime goes to his old room, first, to gather his things and head for the baths. He leaves Olenna’s company feeling simultaneously better and worse about his lot in life. It’s an odd effect she has, praise and an insult bound together. He’s a man grown, but her assertion that he has the aptitude to do <em> something </em> still affects him.</p><p><em> I made a decision like that, once. I chose what I thought was right and earned nothing but infamy for it. </em>Even those who lauded the deed as a necessity called him an oathbreaker. Olenna taught him the best path wasn’t always the cleanest, nor was it the one that would earn him praise. It might even require becoming the villain.</p><p>
  <em> You’ve a good head on your shoulders. </em>
</p><p>The first time Olenna uttered those words to Jaime, he’d been at Highgarden for barely a season. He remembers being unhappy, lonely, and sullen. Olenna summoned him at least four afternoons every sennight, and he’d take tea with her and wonder <em> why </em> she kept suffering his company.</p><p>Jaime had stared at her blankly for several moments. Eventually, she smacked him in the arm and told him to stop gaping like a fish.</p><p>“I’m not a fish,” Jaime protested, “I’m a lion.”</p><p>“The pride of Casterly Rock,” Olenna laughed, “You’re a housecat, but you <em> could </em> be more. Tell me, boy, what do you dream of being?”</p><p>Jaime, all of nine summer’s old at the time, squared his shoulders and said, “A knight.”</p><p>Olenna chuckled and asked, “Why?”</p><p>“Valor,” Jaime replied, “I want to protect the weak, maidens and children, like Florian the Fool or Symeon Star-Eyes.”</p><p>“Those are legends, boy,” Olenna laughed, then, but it didn’t <em> quite </em> feel mocking. “Do you think real knights behave that way?”</p><p>He’d seen Olenna smack Willas for being impudent, and the boy <em> always </em> cried. He was three, though, and Jaime was nearly a man grown. <em> I’m brave. </em>“You’re a woman; what do you know of knights?”</p><p>“More than you, certainly. Even if I didn’t know knights, I know <em> men, </em> and that tells all.”</p><p>Jaime hadn’t quite understood her words at the time, but as he grew, his heroes disappointed him. Then, he started to understand. <em> She was right; even Arthur Dayne, who seemed like a hero to me, stood by while the Mad King-- </em></p><p>The thought is truncated by Margaery and Loras appearing in front of his chamber door as Jaime turns the corner. They’re grown, now, and in the face of that reality, Jaime stops in his tracks to look at them. <em> They’re so alike. </em> Almost more than Cersei and he had been at their age. </p><p>Margaery comes to him, and holds out her arms for an embrace. Jaime doesn’t refuse, even though it’s been a long, long time since anyone hugged him. Margaery’s hair smells of flowers.</p><p>“Jaime,” she beams at him as she steps back from the embrace. “You have a beard.”</p><p>“Why does <em> everyone </em> mention that?”</p><p>“Grandmother told me she wrote to you, but she also said I shouldn’t hope for your attendance.”</p><p>The last time Jaime saw Margaery, she was twelve; the young woman who stands before him now is lovely. <em> And, more importantly, her smile has every ounce of Olenna’s shrewdness. </em></p><p>Loras holds out his hand, and Jaime clasps if firmly. Loras, skilled with a blade and a touch arrogant, is a bit too much like looking in a mirror; Jaime doesn’t want to be sixteen again. </p><p>“Loras, you’re a man grown.”</p><p>“I am,” he squeezes Jaime’s hand before letting go. “I had faith you’d show up; Margaery is your favorite.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t miss <em> any </em> of your weddings.” It’s not <em> quite </em> the truth--Jaime considered not making the journey, but it had nothing to do with Margaery.</p><p>“You missed Garlan’s,” Loras points out, “but it wasn’t <em> nearly </em> the production.”</p><p>“It will be lovely for <em> all </em> of us,” Margaery takes her brother’s hand and squeezes. “I told Grandmother everything would be fine, but you know how she can be.”</p><p>“Indeed, I do.”</p><p>“Loras only arrived a sennight past with Lord Renly. I’m <em> thrilled </em> you’re all here,” Margaery continues. “Jaime, you should meet Lord Renly.”</p><p>Jaime saw what he assumed was the Baratheon retinue camped inside the first of the walls protecting Highgarden. He forgot completely that Loras had been sent to Storm’s End to squire. Loras probably hasn't returned to Highgarden in about as much time as Jaime. </p><p>“I’ll have to call on Lord Renly before the ceremony to see if he’s a worthy match.” </p><p>Margaery grins, “Loras told me there’s a <em> woman </em> among his troops; she wears mail and wields a sword as a man would.”</p><p>“Brienne of Tarth,” Loras adds, “I’ve seen her, but she keeps to herself, so we’ve barely spoken.”</p><p><em> Interesting. </em>Frankly, it’s been far too long since Jaime’s been interested in something; other people are usually crushingly disappointing. He’s never had the taste for manipulation that Olenna tried to instill in him.</p><p><em> “That </em> I might have to go witness for myself.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Brienne I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“If you long to be a knight, then go.”</p><p>Brienne thinks often of her father’s parting words as Renly’s men move from Storm’s End to Highgarden.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The response to the first chapter of this made my week. Thank you so much for all your amazing comments. I hope you enjoy Brienne's first chapter!</p><p>As a content warning, this is the chapter where Brienne experiences the most sexual harassment. It's almost entirely dialogue, and the specifics of it are the same as in the books. There's a couple brief mentions of rape because Randyll Tarly is a victim blaming asshole.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“If you long to be a knight, then go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne thinks often of her father’s parting words as Renly’s </span>
  <span>men</span>
  <span> move from Storm’s End to Highgarden. The words haunt her along the Kingsroad and the Roseroad until Brienne can’t help but think she was somehow on the losing side, despite getting what she wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After three failed engagements, Brienne felt more like her father had given up on her rather than understanding what Brienne wanted for herself. He’d written Storm’s End to ask if she’d be welcome, but the letter didn’t feel like a victory. Three years had passed since Humphrey Wagstaff sailed back to the mainland with broken bones, but the story of the Evenstar’s daughter challenging her betrothed to single combat spread quickly enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shame </span>
  <em>
    <span>should’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> been on Ser Humphrey for being beaten handily by a girl of ten-and-five, but that’s never how those things played out. No, the shame was on Brienne--for challenging him, for being too unfeminine to be a lady, for being tall and freckled and having a crooked nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ser Humphrey was taken to the infirmary at Evenfall, Ser Goodwin, the master-of-arms, found Brienne crying in a secluded corner of the armory. She looked wretched every day, but tears made her skin mottled and her freckles even more pronounced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady,” Ser Goodwin knelt down beside her, “Your footwork was fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The compliment startled Brienne; Ser Goodwin was kind but pragmatic and always told Brienne the truth, no matter how harsh. She was raised on harsh realities, from the moment Septa Roelle told her she wasn’t pretty or clever and that anyone who told her so was trying to please her father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Praise, from any source, made Brienne wary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ser,” Brienne sniffed, hating how raspy her voice sounded, thick with tears, “He was an old man, and I scared him off. He would’ve suffered me had I been demure. There’s no honor in beating him.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Aye,” he agreed, “but you’re a girl of summer and should that change, you’ll learn there’s little honor on the battlefield.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne had never held a sword outside Evenfall’s training yard, and Ser Goodwin fought for Tarth during Robert’s Rebellion. She always believed him, despite how much she loved the songs and stories of knights. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s little honor in me,” she sniffed and wiped her eyes with her large hands, “I’ve shamed my lord father, and now he’ll never be able to find me another match.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to marry Ser Humphrey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to be a good daughter. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne couldn’t quite get those words out, so instead she replied, “Of course not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then,” Ser Goodwin chuckled, “perhaps try thinking of your victory as a reprieve. It was your first real fight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A fight for my freedom.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne changed a bit that day. </span>
  <em>
    <span>With a sword, I can protect myself.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The lesson was that no one would do it for her, not even her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her father didn’t punish her for wounding Ser Humphrey, but he stopped trying to find a match for her, which felt like a punishment in its own way. Brienne never knew what he expected from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fever took Ser Goodwin that winter, and Brienne cried until there were no tears left in her. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Renly Baratheon was the only man Brienne had ever met who danced with her like she was a lady and let her kneel before him and pledge her sword to him like she was a knight. Brienne was neither, of course, doomed to exist in some middle ground. She was doomed to love him, too, pining away from afar because a man such as Renly would </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s enough,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she told herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>to swear to protect him.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was enough that she didn’t set foot in Storm’s End and have Renly laugh in her face and send her back to her father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember you, Lady Brienne,” Renly said to her when she knelt before him in the great hall at Storm’s End. “Your father told me you wield a blade. Are you skilled?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s tongue felt too big for her mouth, but she managed to stumble, “I’ve had the training of a knight, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renly had laughed and clapped his hands, “Then, Lady Brienne, welcome to my company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pride had filled her, and when Renly announced he was traveling to Highgarden to wed the only daughter of Mace Tyrell, Brienne sent a raven to her father and told him she was going, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He won’t be happy. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne’s father surely expected her to come home after a few turns of the moon when she was done playing knight. She swore an oath, and even if she could never be a knight, Brienne would uphold it and guard Renly on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In retrospect, it was naive of Brienne to expect the men in Renly’s camp to treat her as one of them. If she was mocked in dresses, she’d be mocked in mail just the same. Then, there were all the exceptions--she couldn’t bathe in a river when they stopped to camp; she slept poorly at night, sword beside her on her cot, because she quickly learned a maiden alone with a group of men should fear rape.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re knights, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she wanted to shout at them, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and knights don’t behave like this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Renly Baratheon was a good, kind man, and the men who followed him should comport themselves as such. Only they didn’t, and Brienne learned yet another harsh truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne remembers, acutely, the one time she asked Randyll Tarly if she could sleep with the women.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only if you want to be a washwoman or a whore,” he told her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The men, they--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A rape would put you in your place, girl; go home to your lord father and pray he forgives you for being the beast you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tarly held up a hand to silence her, “If you want to play knight with a cunt between your legs, you accept the risk. Don’t come crying to me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tears hadn’t fallen until Brienne was alone; she buried her face in her knees to hide her shame. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s no place for me here, either.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>They reach Highgarden a fortnight before Renly is to wed Margaery Tyrell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s to be a three-day tourney and feast to celebrate the union. The feast doesn’t interest Brienne--there will be dancing and dresses and courtly conversations. When her father held feasts at Evenfall, Brienne would do her best to make herself small and unnoticeable. She was tall, even then, and hiding wasn’t easy as the Evenstar’s only child. People expected her to be charming and affable; instead, she was reticent and awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne doesn’t have a place of honor amongst Renly’s group, so she doubts she’d even be invited to the part of the feast occurring inside Highgarden. No, she’ll be left to celebrate amongst the soldiers, and she’s been with them long enough to know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> will look like.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ale and whores.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Renly’s retinue sets up camp inside the first of the castle’s three tiered walls. Renly himself is given chambers inside the castle. Ser Loras accompanied him, since Highgarden is his home. There’s whispers among the men of </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> reasons Ser Loras might stay so close to Renly, but Brienne isn’t sure if there’s any credence to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hasn’t seen Lady Margaery yet, but everyone says Renly’s bride-to-be is </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful.</span>
  </em>
  <span> According to Renly’s men, Lady Margaery has everything a highborn man could desire in a lady wife--large, doe eyes, tresses that feel like silk, a heaving, ample bosom, and a slender frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Brienne </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> uncomfortable, the way they talk about this girl of ten-and-five. Then again, if Brienne were comely, she’d be wed with a babe by now, too. If she were a better daughter, her father would’ve found better matches, or she would’ve made a better impression on the ones he did find.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Instead, I’m here, but doing what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne never expected Renly to love her, but she was foolish to think that even her sword would be needed.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The third night at Highgarden, someone plays a lute outside Brienne’s pavilion. She’s grateful to finally have her own tent, even though she still sleeps with her longsword beside her.  She’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> asleep when the music starts, and the revelry amongst Renly’s men has been such for the past two nights that music doesn’t surprise her. In fact, the lute is more pleasant a sound that drunken carousing, even though it doesn’t quite drown it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne expects the player to move on, but he doesn’t, and one song flows into the next. Even without vocals, she recognizes the melodies--listening to the singers on Tarth had been one of her favorite activities as a girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s playing love songs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When the third song begins, Brienne rises and pokes her head through the flaps of her tent to see Ser Richard Farrow plucking the strings a few feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, my lady,” he bows in greeting, “I thought you might enjoy some songs this evening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne, more confused than anything, stumbles her gratitude and flees back into the tent. Although confusing, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice, and the songs remind her a bit of home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The strange behavior continues the next day--Ben Bushy, one of the few of Renly’s men who was of a greater height than her, sends his squire to clean her mail. Brienne wasn’t a knight, so she never had a squire and always cared for her own things. The boy seems confused, but Brienne thanks him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that afternoon, Ser Edmund Ambrose brings her a bouquet of lilies, picked fresh from one of Highgarden’s many gardens. Brienne longs to leave the camp for an afternoon and explore the gardens and hedge mazes the castle is known for but hasn’t had a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A sweet bouquet for the lady,” he says when he presents him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last person who gave Brienne flowers was Ronnet Connington, so Brienne expects scorn, but no insults fall from Ser Edmund’s tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne clutches the lilies to her chest and tries to express her gratitude as Septa Roelle taught. “I--t-thank you, ser; they smell lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finds an empty water jug to put them in, and falls asleep with her pavilion smelling of lilies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Ser Hyle Hunt sits across from her at the breakfast table, an extra sweetbread on his plate that he places on Brienne’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you, Lady Brienne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Hyle gives her a rakish grin, “You don’t seem the type to take extra for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“T-thank you.” Brienne hopes she isn’t blushing; it doesn’t make her countenance any fairer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re always alone,” Ser Hyle takes a bite of sausage from his trencher, “Have you no friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No one here wishes to spend time with a woman who wields a sword.” She looks at her plate and mumbles the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps they’re afraid you’ll be victorious?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would be,” Brienne blurts, “...against some, atleast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you train with me, my lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The offer is truly the first thing that’s made her happy since kneeling before Renly at Storm’s End.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Brienne assumes Hyle’s behavior is why the others start being courteous towards her. For the next few days, people sit with her during meals and offer her gifts--a plume for her helm, apples and carrots for her mare. When Ser Owen Inchfeild presses himself against her and tries to kiss her, a hand on her breast through her tunic, Brienne shoves him, hard, and he lands in a cookfire.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do they want from me?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Hyle is the only one who Brienne lowers her guard with. She’s wary, still, but when Hyle brings her sweet cider made from Highgarden’s orchards, Brienne drinks it happily because she doesn’t have much of a taste for ale. Hunt tells her gossip, including more rumors about Renly and Loras that Brienne isn’t sure he believes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t touch her, though, and that makes her start to trust him.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Brienne is pondering signing up for the tourney when Tarly’s squire finds her and summons her to his tent a few days before Renly’s wedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s several prizes--gold dragons, land, and titles among them. Brienne has no experience jousting, and Ser Goodwin gave up on teaching her archery when she was ten summer’s old. The melee, though...</span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> something Brienne thinks she could win. Ser Goodwin always told her to let men underestimate her, to let them tire because endurance was her strength.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In a melee, I might stand a chance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“My lady,” the squire interrupts her musings, “Lord Tarly wishes to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Conversations with Randyll Tarly are best avoided, so there’s a knot in her stomach the entire walk across the camp. The weather is fine, so Lord Tarly’s pavilion doesn’t have walls, only a covering to block the sun. He’s seated in the center at a large table, the kind a map would be laid upon if they were marching to battle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a distraction,” he opens with, “and it needs to cease.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surely you can tell the men have taken a sudden interest in you over the last few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne crosses her arms defensively, like it will make her take up less space. “I-I’ve done nothing to warrant the attention, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tarly laughs, “You’re a woman, so that’s enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be a woman? I can see that, but the fact remains that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I refused them; I don’t know what else to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I slept with a sword. I could not sleep at all or go home to Tarth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>do you suspect they’re giving you gifts and sweet words?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t know, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tarly laughs, but it sounds more cruel this time. “Ser Hyle made a wager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A wager?” Her stomach fills with cold dread. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I should’ve trusted him even less than I did.</span>
  </em>
  <span> No one would ever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“For your maidenhead.” Tarly reaches under the table and pulls out a small cloth bag. It lands on the wood with a dull thunk. “As you can see, the pool has grown </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> sizable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shame burns through her, and it takes every ounce of pride she has not to run and hide in her tent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Of course Lord Tarly had to proclaim this out in the open.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Already a few people have slowed their pace to gawk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, Brienne manages to gather herself and say, “That’s not my fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tarly stands and smacks his hand against the wood; the sound is even louder than the gold dragons had been. “It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>though, because you insist on being here. I don’t know what Lord Renly was thinking allowing the presence of a woman, but it’s only a matter of time before someone tries to force himself on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne isn’t foolish enough to think Tarly cares about her safety, so remains silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’d deserve it for not knowing your place, but I don’t want to deal with it, so I put an end to it. Next time, I’ll let you learn the lesson the hard way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not what Brienne wants to say and tears burn behind her eyes. “I’ll be more careful, my lord.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tarly hasn’t dismissed her, but Brienne doesn’t care; she’s about to run when a voice cuts through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With her stature, I may have assumed she was a man, but is that how you speak to highborn ladies, Lord Tarly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne turns, and the sight that greets her is two of the most beautiful people she’s ever seen. The woman, with her flowing brown hair, </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> be Margaery Tyrell. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The men were right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lady Margaery is so lovely that Brienne wants to flee all the more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery has her arm linked with a man Brienne doesn’t recognize. His jerkin and boots are finely-made, but unadorned, and she can see no sigil tying him to a house. The plainness of his clothes doesn’t distract from the sheer majesty of his appearance. The man is blonde, but unlike Brienne’s straw-colored mop, his hair looks like spun gold and hangs to his shoulders. His close-trimmed beard is as gold as his hair. Brienne catches his green-eyed gaze and forgets Tarly and her shame entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the man grins, and Brienne looks at the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll speak to those under my command how I please,” Tarly answers, “I don’t appreciate being interfered with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A skilled commander punishes the right party,” the man slides his arm out of Lady Margaery’s and takes two long strides toward the table. “And seeks justice for those who were wronged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you know of commanding men?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man shrugs, “Surely less than you, Lord Tarly, but I know not to blame the victim and expect the issue to improve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Victim. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne bristles at the word--she wasn’t a victim, and hadn’t been since Ronnet Connington embarrassed her before her father. She tossed aside his rose and chose a sword. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be my own knight and one for those who can’t protect themselves. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The words sound pretty in her head, but Brienne can’t make her lips form them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m certain my future lord husband wouldn’t condone this,” Lady Margaery adds, “and you’re serving him at </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> lord father’s request, are you not, Lord Tarly? I’m certain Father wouldn’t like to hear of this, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man with the golden hair turns around and grins at Lady Margaery. Brienne is certain no one has ever looked upon her with that much pride in their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lord Renly charged me to keep his men in line while traveling to Highgarden, and he left the methods to my choosing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my lord,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tarly’s tone is combative, and the title is dripping with sarcasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah,</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>ser,</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ser--”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaime Lannister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Kingslayer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tarly’s eyes widen. Brienne feels like her jaw needs to be collected off the ground.</span>
  <span> Jaime Lannister was </span>
  <span>famed across the Seven Kingdoms for slitting the Mad King’s throat and vanishing. An oathbreaker to some, a hero to others, but a legend to all. The wild stories of his exploits across Westeros </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Essos made their way to Tarth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you...</span>
  <em>
    <span>really?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Brienne can’t help but blurt, even though it surely makes her sound like the stupid girl she’s trying not to be, like the stupid girl Randyll Tarly </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinks</span>
  </em>
  <span> she is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ser Jaime throws back his head and laughs, “Most days I wish not to be, but it’s never granted, no matter how much I might desire it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne doesn’t understand his response, but her mouth keeps moving forward. Lord Tarly is </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> staring. “N-no one’s seen you in over a decade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he corrects, “a </span>
  <em>
    <span>few</span>
  </em>
  <span> people have…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lady Margaery touches his arm again, “Jaime would never miss my wedding.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week, Brienne and Jaime start interacting more!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Jaime II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Margaery can be very persuasive, which is why the next morning finds Jaime walking back through Renly’s camp to the tourney sign-ups.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm still losing my mind over the response this fic has gotten. A million thanks to everyone who's commented and kudosed and subscribed!</p><p>Now, enjoy Jaime experiencing the first inklings of thirst.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Escorting Margaery through Renly’s camp to look at the tourney field is going to accomplish little except getting Jaime recognized. Nevertheless, when she asks, Jaime agrees immediately.</p><p>“I’m the bride,” she tells him.</p><p>“We’re already going,” Jaime replies, “there’s no need to convince me.”</p><p>Margaery gives him a sly smile, “I know.”</p><p>Jaime tries to be inconspicuous on his sporadic visits to Highgarden; he’s not keen on word getting back to his father of his whereabouts. <em> You’re running</em>, Olenna told him each time. Jaime wouldn’t argue with her assessment. The moment Jaime reveals himself, someone whispers <em> Kingslayer, </em>he becomes a hero or a villain; his entire life narrowed down to one deed.</p><p>
  <em> My greatest deed. </em>
</p><p>Jaime would rather be anonymous than be hounded by strangers' impressions of something from half his life ago.</p><p>“You always hide in the castle when you visit,” Margaery whispers as they exit.</p><p>“That’s not true,” Jaime replies, “I have distinct memories of going hawking with you and catching <em> nothing.” </em></p><p>“Ser,” she replies, “you’re simply <em> not </em> very skilled at it.”</p><p>“You’re lucky being bested by a girl of ten didn’t make me cross.”</p><p>It’s not surprising, but everyone they pass loves Margaery. Jaime saw her visit the smallfolk in the villages surrounding Highgarden when she was a girl, and it was just the same. She has a natural grace and affability that draws people to her.</p><p>Lannister family traits aren’t exactly subtle, but it’s been a long time since he’s donned crimson and gold. Certainly, <em> some </em>are wondering, and perhaps even guessing, who the man escorting Margaery is, but it’s dwarfed by the reactions to her. </p><p>The walk to the tourney field is fine enough until Jaime hears raised voices from a nearby pavilion. Margaery whispers that the man is Randyll Tarly. The Tarly’s are sworn to the Tyrell’s, but Mace apparently commanded Randyll Tarly to oversee Renly’s men while they camped at Highgarden. He seems to be chastising a soldier, until Jaime overhears one word.</p><p>
  <em> Woman. </em>
</p><p>Margaery squeezes his arm, glances up at him, and mouths <em> that’s her. </em></p><p>From behind, Jaime assumes the person standing across the table from Tarly is a man--broad-shouldered and half a hand taller than himself. He doesn’t recognize the heraldry on the doublet, quartered pink and azure bearing a sun and a moon. Despite his father’s efforts, Jaime never memorized the sigils of the minor houses of Westeros beyond those sworn to house Lannister.</p><p>Even some of those he’s <em> surely </em> forgotten.</p><p>After a few moments of eavesdropping, Jaime can’t stop himself from interjecting. He swore to himself, long ago, that he wouldn’t let propriety or tangled oaths stop him from acting if there was something he could do.</p><p>The woman--Jaime still doesn’t know her name--is so unfortunate looking that any witty interjection dies on his lips. Her broad, freckled cheeks are mottled, whether with shame or rage Jaime can’t say. Her nose has been broken at least once, and her lips are too full to be considered attractive.</p><p>It’s her eyes, deep and blue like the sea, that keep Jaime staring. They’re wide and <em> hurt-- </em>the eyes of a girl, despite her stature and appearance. Jaime swears they’re shining with tears.</p><p>Tarly looks at the two of them and says, “Get the <em> fuck </em> out of my tent. I’ve no time for women and oathbreakers.”</p><p>Margaery’s tone is low with warning, “Lord Tarly.”</p><p>“Lady Margaery, but you shouldn’t be here, either.”</p><p>The girl bolts out of the pavilion, and if not for Margaery, Jaime might’ve dashed after her out of sheer curiosity. </p>
<hr/><p>There was no deliberation when Jaime raised his blade and slit the Mad King’s throat. </p><p>Aerys was rambling about the caches of wildfire around King’s Landing, saying that he wanted to <em> burn it all, burn everything. </em>Jaime had been silent and passive beside the king for any great number of cruel misdeeds over the past two years, and half-a-million people called the city home.</p><p>Jaime sat on the Iron Throne, after, as Aerys’s blood seeped into the hem of his white cloak and down the steps of the dias where the throne sat. He remembers his hand shaking on the hilt of his sword. The blade dripped red with the Mad King’s blood, too.</p><p><em>Any moment, someone is going to come through the doors to the keep and see.</em> The sack of King’s Landing by the Lannister forces had been raging outside for hours. Jaime plotted the conversation in his head. <em>I’ll explain it to them, tell them that Aerys wanted to burn everything and everyone.</em> <em>I weighed the price of one oath against another and made a choice.</em></p><p>The choice was Jaime’s alone; it wasn’t the influence of Tywin Lannister or even Olenna Tyrell. Once, he thought it was the choice Arthur Dayne would’ve made, but even he stood obediently outside the queen’s chambers and listened to her screams and cries.</p><p><em> It was the right choice. </em> No matter who walks through the door or what they say, it’s the truth.</p><p>When Ned Stark stode into the throne room, Jaime’s explanation died on his lips. Ned stared at the body of the king and the blood pooling around him, then his eyes moved to Jaime. He knew how he must seem--arrogant, dressed in Lannister gold and his white cloak, and perched on the throne like he meant to claim it. <em> I could challenge him and win. </em> His father might approve--Jaime on the throne, with his father as his Hand. Olenna might even like the course.</p><p>
  <em> I’ve never wanted something like that. </em>
</p><p>Days later, when Jaime had hunted down and slain the rest of the king’s pyromancers, and Robert had claimed the throne, he called Jaime into the Red Keep to decide his fate. Jaime didn’t like Robert’s ass sitting on the throne any more than he had the Mad King’s.</p><p>Ned spoke first, and his voice was filled with judgement. “You’re a Kingsguard who killed your king.”</p><p>Robert had laughed and clapped Ned on the back, “It’s no matter. We both wanted the Mad King dead, regardless. It doesn’t seem like there would’ve been much of a fight, so there’s no glory lost there.”</p><p>“He still swore an oath,” Ned repeated.</p><p>“I’ve no affection for the Lannisters, it’s true, but even I can see when I’ve been done a favor.”</p><p> “You’d let him remain at his post?”</p><p>Jaime was just as shocked as Ned. He didn’t regret what he did, but thought they’d surely send him to the Wall, if not remove his head from his shoulders.</p><p>Robert shrugged, “Just don’t make a habit of it.”</p><p><em> I won’t. </em>Jaime rose from where he’d been kneeling before the throne and unclasped his white cloak, letting it drop to the floor. “Dismiss me.”</p><p>“Dismiss you?” Robert repeated, “Why in the Seven Hells would I do that?”</p><p>“Because I killed the king I swore an oath to protect. I don’t regret it, but you cannot expect me to serve any longer.”</p><p>“Of course you don’t regret it,” Ned said.</p><p>Jaime remembered being so frustrated that he wanted to scream. Instead, he took a deep breath and said. “The king was going to <em>burn</em> King’s Landing; there were caches of wildfire <em>everywhere--</em>under every street and brothel and sept.” What mattered more, Jaime’s oath to defend the king or the words he repeated when Ser Arthur Dayne touched Dawn to his shoulders? <em>Defend the young and protect the innocent. </em>“The oaths contradicted one another; I chose to uphold the one that mattered more.”</p>
<hr/><p>Margaery can be <em> very </em> persuasive, which is why the next morning finds Jaime walking back through Renly’s camp to the tourney sign-ups. It’s been over a decade since he last competed, and he can’t think of a more ridiculous way to make his presence of Highgarden widely known.</p><p>Olenna’s words are digging their claws into him, just a touch.</p><p>When he gets to the tourney board, it’s nearly blocked from view by the woman from Tarly’s tent.</p><p>“My lady,” Jaime calls, “you make a finer door than a window.”</p><p>She turns her hulking frame and glares at him with those <em> eyes </em> of hers; Jaime feels as though her gaze bores into his very soul. She doesn’t respond, but she <em> does </em> step aside.</p><p>Jaime has spent much time alone talking to various unnamed horses, so a one-sided conversation doesn’t deter him. “Are you planning on signing up? I’ve never seen a woman compete in a tourney. They’re strict about such things in the Reach, but since you’re in Renly’s service and it’s his tourney, they’ll certainly allow it.”</p><p>
  <em> Silence. </em>
</p><p>“So, you’re a swordwench?”</p><p>More silence.</p><p>“Are you suddenly mute?”</p><p>Still nothing.</p><p>“Is there a name I can call you?”</p><p>“Brenne,” she grunts.</p><p>“Just...Brienne?”</p><p>Now, she sighs, “...of Tarth.”</p><p>“Was that so hard, Brienne of Tarth?”</p><p>Jaime tries to make eye contact, but Brienne’s gaze darts to the ground. He can’t help but think she might garner more respect if she stared men down. That doesn’t change the fact that she deserves respect regardless.</p><p>“Are you,” she says after a moment, “going to sign-up?”</p><p>“Mayhaps. It was suggested to me. Are <em> you?” </em></p><p>Brienne crosses her arms, “T-The melee, perhaps.”</p><p>“Does the swordwench not joust?”</p><p>She shakes her head, “I was never taught how, but I <em> can </em> fight.”</p><p>“By the look of you, I don’t doubt that,” Jaime replies, “I was considering the joust. I used to win...sometimes, but I haven’t done it in a decade.”</p><p>“Not the melee?”</p><p>Jaime gives her his most cutting grin, “I’d win handily; I don’t want to shame the lot of you.”</p><p>He imagines the ridiculous sight of unwrapping Brightroar and wielding it during a melee. Jaime preferred a one-handed longsword for mobility, but the boon of Valyrian steel can’t be bested. Mostly, Jaime loves that he’s been carrying the blade around for more than a year. Imagining that word of him carrying a Valyrian steel blade made its way to his father at Casterly Rock is endlessly funny. <em> Would Father assume the blade is Brightroar? Or some other lost blade? </em></p><p>Brienne snorts, presumably at Jaime’s brash display of hubris. “If you’re <em> truly </em> Jaime Lannister, the tales don’t lie about your arrogance.”</p><p>“Nor do the ones around camp that speak of  what a beauty you are.” Jaime won’t tell her that he asked several of Renly’s knights about her the prior afternoon.</p><p>“If you’re trying to make me angry, it won’t work.”</p><p>“I <em> am </em> Jaime Lannister in the flesh.” Brienne looks curious, but she doesn’t respond. “I can hear your questions, wench. Best speak them aloud.”</p><p>“My name isn’t <em> wench.” </em></p><p>“No, but you’re a swordwench in a camp of men.”</p><p><em> “Fine. </em>W-Where have you been all these years?”</p><p>Jaime shrugs, “Around. Essos, Dorne. Even here, sometimes.”</p><p>“Are the tales about you true?” From the look on Brienne’s face, she wishes she could take back those words.</p><p>“Which ones? I hear so many I can’t keep track. Is it the one about the pillow house in Lys? That one nearly made me choke on my ale when I heard it. There’s <em> no way </em> I fucked--” The wench is blushing so fervently that Jaime takes pity on the sight and stops mid-sentence.</p><p>Eventually says, “T-Thank you, for yesterday. I didn’t ask for <em> any </em>of that. I just wanted--”</p><p>“To be a knight and do good?”</p><p>She nods, sadly, and Jaime feels an immediate kinship with her. He wanted that, too, long ago--to be like Arthur Dayne and have his deeds immortalized in song. It was a naive dream, but part of Jaime longs for it even today.</p><p>“You think me naive.” </p><p>“Yes,” Jaime admits, “but perhaps I’m jaded beyond repair. Tell me, the knights who made the wager, will they compete in the melee?”</p><p>“The prize for winning the entire tourney is a land and a keep.”</p><p>“Every hedge knight’s fantasy.” Jaime has a keep waiting for him that he would <em> happily </em> give away. Brienne would have no need of a keep, either. “They’ll participate. You should sign up.”</p><p>“I will.” Brienne sets her shoulders in a way that gives her the appearance of a stubborn boulder. “But why do you say so?”</p><p>“I should think that’s obvious--<em> revenge.” </em></p>
<hr/><p>Olenna rarely leaves her solar, yet somehow seems to know all the day’s happenings moments after they occur. She also assumes any person she summons will drop whatever they’re doing and rush to her.</p><p>It’s mid-afternoon, and Jaime has just returned to his chamber and is considering tracking down a midday meal when the summons arrive. <em> She’ll have food, so I will oblige. </em>At least that’s what Jaime tells himself is his reasoning for going.</p><p>Margaery is already there when Jaime arrives, and he occupies the same chair as the day prior.</p><p>“You’re jousting,” Olenna says before he can even reach for the teapot, “I thought you were past the need for pointless displays of masculinity.”</p><p>Jaime replies, “I’m not competing in the melee.”</p><p>“It would be unfair,” Margaery agrees. “Jaime had words with Lord Tarly as well.”</p><p>“Back for a day and already making friends. Are you trying to enhance your reputation for acts of heroism?” Olenna gives a dry cackle, “What a waste of flesh and air that man is.”</p><p>“Grandmother--”</p><p>“Hush, Margaery; the truth is never rude.” Margaery reaches out and takes her grandmother’s frail hand. “I’ll miss you when you go.”</p><p>“I’ll miss you as well,” Margaery replies. Then, she straightens in her chair and reaches for her cup. “Did you hear there’s a <em> woman </em> amongst Lord Renly’s men?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“She was who Jaime argued with Lord Tarly about.”</p><p>Olenna looks at Jaime and raises both her brows, “You always did like heroics. There’s not a scrap of Tywin Lannister in you.”</p><p>Jaime doesn’t know what to say to that, so he holds his tongue.</p><p>Margaery says, “We should invite her to tea. Surely she tires of being surrounded by all those soldiers.”</p><p>He has no reply for that suggestion, either.</p>
<hr/><p>When they leave Olenna’s solar, Margaery walks with Jaime.</p><p>If anyone saw the two of them, it might cause a rumor. Margaery has her fingers curled around Jaime’s bent elbow, and his head is bowed so they’re closer to eye level. Jaime isn’t trying to create a rumor, but he <em> does </em> want to talk to Margaery about one, now that they’re away from Olenna’s sharp ears.</p><p>“I heard a rumor regarding Renly today on my way back from signing up for the lists,” Jaime keeps his voice low. </p><p>Margaery smirks, “You did what I asked!”</p><p>“Against my better judgment, yes.”</p><p>Her expression shifts to a more neutral one, “You spoke of a rumor?”</p><p>The exact wording of what Jaime heard--that Renly was <em> impaling </em> Ser Loras with his <em> sword-- </em>doesn’t need repeated. Some might say it’s too crude for a lady’s ears, but he knows that some of Margaery’s innocence is feigned. With three elder brothers, she’s certainly heard a bawdy joke.</p><p>No, Jaime delicacy comes from the fact that Margaery is Renly’s bride.</p><p>“It concerned Lord Renly and Ser Loras,” he replies slowly, “It implied they might be...intimate.”</p><p><em> Never in my life have I uttered such delicate phrasing. </em> If Renly is going to be unfaithful and take his goodbrother to his bed, his wife deserves to know. </p><p>Margaery smiles and squeezes his arm, “Are you looking out for me, Jaime?”</p><p>“Of course I am.” </p><p>“Lord Renly and my brother are lovers.” Margaery’s tone is like she’s talking about choosing fabric for a gown. </p><p>Jaime’s jaw must hit the floor because she starts laughing. It takes quite a bit to render him speechless. “You <em> know?” </em></p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“And you’re accepting of it?”</p><p>Margaery smiles, “Loras is my brother; I could never shame him.”</p><p>“I don’t mean about Renly being a man,” Jaime lowers his voice and gets even closer. “You’d marry a man who took your <em> brother </em> as a lover?”</p><p>Half his life ago, Jaime let his sister take him to bed over a number of weeks. Then, he’d begged her to wed him like they were fucking Targaryens. Those in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones, or some such trite saying.</p><p>“Marriage and love aren’t the same thing.” Margaery sounds like Cersei did at her age, and Jaime hates to hear it, regardless of the veracity of the statement. “It’s an alliance between two houses.”</p><p>
  <em> That’s Olenna’s voice. </em>
</p><p>“That’s a fair bit different than this situation. Love can grow over time.” Jaime’s heard of such things--like Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully, but love, to Jaime, always burned bright and hot and instant. “But if Renly prefers the company of men…”</p><p>“Lord Renly will do his duty,” she replies, “Find me a lord husband who doesn’t take a lover. At least with this, I can make Loras happy.”</p><p><em> I wouldn’t. </em>As far as Jaime knew, none of his infrequent lovers belonged to another, and he’d never paid coin to bed them.</p><p>“Margaery, what about<em> your </em> happiness?”</p><p>“The king of Westeros will be my goodbrother, and my husband will be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.”</p><p>“That’s not happiness.” <em> Or love. </em></p><p>Margaery’s lips quirk to the side in a smirk, “I’ll be free to do what I like, and I’ll have <em> quite </em> the secret on him, won’t I?”</p><p>
  <em> More Olenna. </em>
</p><p>“I...suppose you will.”</p><p>“Lord Renly is a fine friend,” she says, “We’ll all go to Storm’s End after the wedding. It may not be a romance worthy of a song, but I want to help my family without being at the mercy of a foolish man, or worse, a cruel one. Not every man is like you, Jaime.”</p><p>“Gods, I hope not. Where would we fit their egos?” Jaime tries to jape, but it falls flat.</p><p>Margaery goes up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I meant honorable, but I suppose both are true.”</p>
<hr/><p>Jousting isn’t subtle.</p><p>If Jaime enlisted in the melee, he could don generic armor and get lost in the fray. They’d only identify him when he won. Jousting requires a shield and a horse, both of which are chances to display heraldry. They’d announce the matches, and Jaime, despite the way he’s spent the last fifteen years, would never pretend to be another man.</p><p>Signing up for the joust is Jaime making a claim that he’s back. It’s a stupid, performative way, but word will travel, and his father will know his whereabouts.</p><p>
  <em> Perhaps it’s time. </em>
</p><p>The day before the tourney begins, Jaime stares at his old armor after he dresses. It’s still in his room, golden plate with a lionhead helm. The cape is crimson and trimmed with gold. Jaime hasn’t worn in it over a decade, but it should still fit.</p><p>Ser Barristan tilted against him when he was decades older than Jaime, and he’d only narrowly beaten the man. Prior to their match, Barristan won against knights half his age or more. <em> I might not win, but I shouldn’t embarrass myself. </em></p><p>The lists are the first day, followed by the archery and the melee on the second day. Margaery and Renly will be wed the following morning in Highgarden’s sept. After that, there will be a ball and three days of feasting.</p><p><em> The bounty of the Reach. </em> The Tyrell’s show their power through food and drink.</p><p>The wench comes into his mind again, and Jaime remembers Olenna’s request to invite her to tea. There’s a scrap of crimson fabric on his bureau from Seven-knows-when, and Jaime grabs it. It’s not much of a favor, and the fabric is dusty from disuse, but perhaps Brienne of Tarth will tie it around her wrist as she earns her revenge.</p><p>Imagining her huge form squashed into one of the brocade chairs in Olenna’s solar has Jaime chuckling as he makes his way to Renly’s camp in hopes of finding her.</p><p>It doesn’t take much effort; she’s taller than most of the men and training alone.</p><p>“Wench!”</p><p>Brienne turns from the practice dummy she’s brutalizing and narrows her eyes at him. They’re as enchanting as the last two times Jaime’s seen her. It makes him forget the rest of her is so awkward. He also realizes he’s completely forgotten any attempt at courtesy.</p><p>He clears his throat rather dramatically, “I mean--well met, Lady Brienne.”</p><p>“Ser Jaime,” she answers, and it <em> still </em>sounds supremely wary. “Good day.”</p><p>Jaime inclines his head toward the straw dummy. “Imagining your suitors?”</p><p>“...No.”</p><p>“A lie,” Jaime laughs, “You did sign up, didn’t you?”</p><p>“...Yes.”</p><p>“Is a sword your weapon of choice?”</p><p>Brienne bites her lip and glances away; the breeze ruffles the fine strands of her straw-colored hair. “I was…considering the merits of a morningstar.”</p><p>Jaime can see it--the power behind her strikes as the morningstar smashes into plate mail, and her opponent goes flying. From the look of her, he bets the wench can fight for hours. The idea of her stamina sends a strange rush through him; the heat of it feels like desire, so Jaime tries to banish it from his mind.</p><p>“A fine choice,” Jaime digs the scrap of fabric out of the pocket of his breeches. “Does a favor interest the lady?”</p><p>“A...favor?”</p><p>“Sometimes knights wear a token of someone who’s cheering for them.” <em> Sometimes a lover, </em>but he doesn’t say that. Jaime holds the fabric flat in his palm. “For luck.”</p><p>Her cheeks approach the color of the fabric, but Brienne takes the scrap and clutches it in her hand. “I know that. Y-you’d cheer for me?”</p><p>
  <em> “Absolutely.” </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week, Brienne beats the shit out of some assholes with a morningstar.</p><p>Tell me what you think here or on tumblr @kurikaesu-haru.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Brienne II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Brienne’s been in Jaime Lannister’s company three times in as many days, with each encounter being more peculiar than the last. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Time for Brienne to bash some jerks with a morningstar!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne’s been in Jaime Lannister’s company three times in as many days, with each encounter being more peculiar than the last. </p><p>Jaime took the time to defend <em> her-- </em> Brienne of Tarth--from Randyll Tarly’s insults. He encouraged her, a highborn maiden despite all appearances, to sign up for a melee for the purposes of revenge. Then, arguably the most perplexing, handed her a favor, like she was the knight and <em> he </em> the lady, and told her he’d cheer for her. </p><p>The scrap of crimson fabric is the only Lannister colors she’s seen from him. Most members of the high houses of Westeros wear their heraldry as a sign of pride. Even many of Brienne’s things, few though they are, bear the rose and azure of Tarth.</p><p>She heard tales of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, since she was old enough to sit at her father’s knee and listen to the singers visiting Tarth. In her girlhood, stories were always her favorite, especially those of heroic knights of legend like Galladon of Morne. She liked the more recent tales, too, of Roberts’ Rebellion. Brienne imagined meeting Arthur Dayne and holding a sword forged from a fallen star. The Kingslayer was in these tales, but Brienne never could decide the kind of figure he was meant to be.</p><p>Brienne couldn’t have been more than six summer’s old when a bard from the mainland came to Tarth. It was midsummer, and all the doors of Evenfall’s great hall were open to let in the cool wind from the bay. She sat beside her father and listened to the tale of the Kingslayer and the mad Targaryen king. She was closer to her father, then; loss pulled them together and dragged them apart. </p><p>He always answered her questions, though.</p><p>“Is the Kingslayer a hero?” she whispered to her father once the song was complete. It was the question of a child--of absolutes in a world where everything existed in shades of grey.</p><p>“Some say he was,” her father answered, “but others say to break such an oath is unforgivable.”</p><p>“The Kingsguard swear to protect the king.” Brienne read that in a book somewhere. </p><p>Her father nodded, “The story goes that the King was going to do a bad thing and hurt many people.”</p><p>“Is that why King Robert started a rebellion? To save people from the Mad King?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Brienne knows now that her father’s answer had been a lie, or at least the truth he believed. Tarth sided with the Baratheon’s during the rebellion, but Robert Baratheon started the rebellion over his love of Lyanna Stark. She overheard Renly talking of it one night at Storm’s End. The selfishness of the deed sat like a rock in Brienne’s stomach.</p><p>“So why did the Kingslayer kill the Mad King, then?”</p><p>“Some say the king was going to burn the city,” her father replied, “but others say Ser Jaime told a lie to avoid punishment, and that he was trying to secure the throne for his father.”</p><p>“So, he broke his oath to save people? But why would he swear loyalty to someone who would hurt people?”</p><p>Her father didn’t have an answer for that question; at least, not one that he could convey to a very idealistic child. Jaime Lannister left the Kingsguard and vanished from Westeros, leaving everyone to speculate the truth in his absence.</p><p>Whether they cursed Jaime or praised him--<em> everyone </em> knew of him.</p><p>Brienne never expected to actually <em> meet </em> Jaime Lannister. Tales from Essosi sailors and merchants frequently found their way to Tarth’s shores. The stories, even the ones where his deeds are painted as virtuous, speak of his flippancy and arrogance. The few people who claim to have seen him in the last decade and a half reinforce the impression--Jaime is caustic and combative. All say he’s beautiful, but that even his noble deeds are done in service to his ego. She’s also heard him called a womanizer.</p><p><em> But he defended me. </em> The first person to do so; everyone else mocked her and told her to go home. Even Renly, who Brienne <em> thought </em> welcomed her, never rose to aid her. Jaime japed at her appearance, but when he told her to get revenge, his smile reached his eyes. Foolishly, the sight made her heart skip a beat.</p><p>Brienne clutches the strip of red in her hand.</p><p>
  <em> He wants to see me win. </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>Brienne hasn’t worn her armor since Ben Bushy’s squire polished it for her. The boy wasn’t that thorough, and she’s happy to sit in the quiet of her pavilion and go over the places he missed. Her armor isn’t the most ornate, but the cobalt blue plate reminds her of the waters off Tarth.</p><p>Wearing it is also the only time Brienne feels confident. With her helm on and visor down, she can pass for a knight. Her voice isn’t as low as a mans, but it’s hardly girlish and lilting. No one mocks her until she takes the helm off, and they discover her sex.</p><p><em> A knight doesn’t need to be handsome. </em> Certainly, many are--Ser Loras had ladies swooning during every tourney. Jaime certainly would, too. Should he joust, Brienne wonders what he will do with the attention. A homely knight, or even a ugly one, can earn valor; for a woman not blessed with comely features, there is nothing.</p><p>At least there’s the melee. Brienne looks at the scrap of crimson on her cot. It wasn’t the token of a lover; someone like Jaime Lannister would <em> never. </em>The last person to encourage her in any way was Ser Goodwin, so Brienne basks in the feeling, just the littlest bit.</p><p>She’s still basking when a voice calls out her name from outside the tent.</p><p>When Brienne peers through the canvas flap, a boy who can’t be older than eight looks up at her. She’s <em> very </em> tall, so the journey takes his eyes a good moment.</p><p>“Lady Olenna Tyrell requests that you join her in her solar for tea.”</p><p>“T-Tea?”</p><p>“Yes, my lady.”</p><p>
  <em> “Presently?” </em>
</p><p>“As soon as you’re able.”</p><p>Brienne nearly blurts <em> why? </em> A room filled with highborn ladies taking tea is her idea of the seven hells. It could be worse than being surrounded by drunken soldiers. At least Brienne could strike one of them if they bothered her. She had no defense against proper conversation and manners, despite hours spent in her girlhood trying to instill such knowledge.</p><p>“I, um,” she glances downward; her doublet and breeches are fine enough for camp, but not for <em> tea. </em>“I don’t have the proper attire.”</p><p>“It’s a small gathering, so there’s no need to stand on courtesy.” The boy says the line as though an adult told him to memorize it.</p><p><em> A trap, certainly. </em> The veil of propriety was <em> always </em> there for Brienne to get tangled in. When she inevitably tripped and fell on her face, she hit the ground twice as hard. <em> There’s no polite way to refuse. </em></p><p>At least she bathed the evening prior. Highgarden’s baths were lovely, and she’d hadn’t be so relaxed and alone in weeks.</p><p>The boy leads her in silence, giving Brienne a chance to take in her surroundings. She’s desired to explore more of Highgarden since her arrival, but had no good reason to wander about. The castle and its gardens look drawn from a storybook. Every space is bursting with greenery and flowers, and ivy clings to the white stone walls. Flags bearing the Tyrell’s rose sigil fly from the blue roofed turrets. They skirt the edge of the hedge maze--getting lost in it would effectively stall for time. </p><p>
  <em> Perhaps I could miss tea entirely. </em>
</p><p>Inside the castle is equally ornate; fresco and gilding and marble. The knot of dread in Brienne’s stomach grows until the boy stops before a set of double doors and announces their destination. The doors are guarded by two broad men who appear to be twins.</p><p>Brienne is broader and taller than both of them.</p><p>The boy announces her, which is <em> mortifying. </em> </p><p>She’s barely had a chance to take in the room before Jaime’s now-familiar voice interrupts her.</p><p>“Wench, you came!”</p><p>There’s a sharp <em> thwack, </em> and Jame yelps.</p><p>“I didn’t teach you to greet a lady like that, boy, and I’d never claim to like Tywin Lannister, but I’m certain <em> he </em> didn’t, either”</p><p>The woman who spoke is seated in the center of a configuration of ornate chairs and is no taller than a child. Two of her stacked on atop the other might not reach Brienne’s height. Her face is wrinkled with age, but her eyes are lively.</p><p>
  <em> Olenna Tyrell. </em>
</p><p>“It’s a nickname,” Jaime protests, “the wen--I mean, <em> Lady Brienne, </em>doesn’t mind, do you?”</p><p>“I--um--”</p><p>“How in the seven hells, Jaime, is she supposed to honestly answer such a question?” Olenna scolds. “Come, have some tea while Margaery compensates for my ward’s poor manners.”</p><p>Margaery, seated in a chair next to Olenna, laughs demurely.</p><p><em> Your laugh sounds like a braying donkey. </em> Brienne doesn’t know if that’s true, but she remembers the village boy who said it to her.</p><p><em> All </em> the chairs look delicate; she has the horrible image of the legs snapping under her heft. One to Jaime’s right looks like it’s meant to hold two people who wish to sit quite intimately. Brienne chooses it, and it doesn’t so much as creak.</p><p>Olenna is studying her. <em> They call her the Queen of Thorns. </em> Brienne holds her breath and waits for the inevitable barb. Her eyes make the long, long journey from Brienne’s feet to the top of her head. “You’re <em> quite </em> unique, aren’t you?”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t know how to respond; she’s only <em> certain </em> her expression looks entirely bovine.</p><p>“Are you<em> taller </em> than Jaime?” Olenna continues.</p><p>“I--I believe so--”</p><p>Olenna makes a vague motion with her hand, and Jaime stands. Brienne doesn’t want to but there’s no way out of it.</p><p>“Only an inch or so.” Jaime’s tone carries a petulance Brienne’s never heard.</p><p>Brienne’s cheeks flush, so she returns to her seat.</p><p>“Well,” Olenna picks up her teacup with a surprisingly steady hand, “At least Renly Baratheon brought <em> something </em> of interest with him since he’s taking my granddaughter away.”</p><p>Margaery sighs, “Grandmother--”</p><p>“I was thinking of remaining,” Jaime interrupts, “as long as you don’t send a raven to my father inviting him here.”</p><p>Olenna looks Jaime straight in the eyes and replies, “You’ve a better chance of Mace making a wise decision.”</p><p>“Lady Brienne,” Margaery pours her tea into an ornate porcelain cup and holds it out, “You came all the way from Storm’s End with Lord Renly?”</p><p>The cup is engulfed by Brienne’s palm, but she takes it regardless. “Yes.”</p><p>Olenna laughs, “Was that as an insufferable experience as it sounds?”</p><p>“It was--um,” Brienne isn’t sure how forthright to be; no one has ever asked her such a question. “It was....not as I expected.” She hopes they don’t ask about exactly <em> what </em> she expected because, in hindsight, it was quite naive.</p><p>Jaime is smirking, “Hedge knights <em> always </em> act like hedge knights, and <em> Lord </em> Renly’s camp is <em> full </em> of them.”</p><p>Brienne’s looking at her reflection in her tea when she whispers, “I only wanted to be left alone.”</p><p>“Isn’t that what <em> all </em> women want, my dear?” Olenna shakes her head reproachfully, “Jaime, see that Brienne is given a chamber in the castle befitting her station. I don’t know what Lord Renly was thinking placing a highborn maid amongst a camp of ruffians. If he values her blade, he can at least treat her with as much respect as he does Loras.”</p><p><em> I don’t want special treatment, </em> Brienne wants to say, but the promise of a door with a lock is too compelling. It would be rude to refuse Lady Olenna as well.</p><p>Jaime replies with an enthusiastic, “I’ll see that it’s done.”</p>
<hr/><p>Maybe Jaime put the thought into her mind, but when Brienne wakes on the morning of the melee her first though is <em> revenge. </em></p><p>Before the bet, Brienne only wanted to prove her worthiness--to earn her place amongst knights, even if she could never truly be one of them. She still desires that, but there’s a healthy dose of wanting to best those that mocked her. <em> If I win, they’ll only think me more freakish. </em></p><p>She’ll have her victory, regardless. It’s the next best thing after their acceptance. </p><p>As Brienne dresses, she wraps Jaime’s favor around her wrist before she slides on her gauntlet. It’s completely obscured, but knowing it’s there bolsters her resolve. Jaime promised again to cheer for her after she left Lady Olenna’s solar the afternoon prior.</p><p>The melee field is an expanse of green outside Highgarden’s walls. At least a hundred men are milling about when Brienne arrives, joking and laughing with one another. Brienne expects no such camaraderie, so she stands off to the side and uses the time to find all of her suitors.</p><p>Many wear their house sigils, and even those who don’t Brienne recognizes their armor from traveling with them for weeks. Some of the entrants are Renly’s men, but there are other knights from the Reach as well. Brienne spots Loras standing at the edge of the field talking with someone not dressed in armor whom Brienne assumes is his older brother Garlan.</p><p><em> Garlan thinks tourneys are foolish sport, </em> Jaime told her, <em> which is fair luck because he’s </em> very <em> skilled. </em> Apparently, Garlan trains by fighting three men at once so it will better resemble combat on the battlefield. She wonders if Jaime thinks that Garlan would best <em> him. </em></p><p>All the honored guests are seated in covered boxes along one side of the field. Brienne sights Lady Olenna, who looks somehow out of place removed from her solar. There are other Tyrell’s around her, including Margaery, seated between her grandmother and Renly. Next to Renly is a large man who might’ve had Renly’s handsomeness in his youth, but excess food and drink had soured it. <em> Robert Baratheon, the King. </em></p><p>Renly, even at this distance, remains as handsome as when he danced with her at Evenfall. Brienne remembers the way his hand felt clasped in hers and how graceful she felt, if only for the duration of a single song. Renly had spoken to her like any other lady, and there’d been no mocking in his tone.</p><p>Brienne gets a touch lost in the memory and feels her cheeks heating. Thankfully, the helm hides it. By the time she’s paying attention once more, the announcer is yelling across the field.</p><p>Then, things get a <em> bit </em> chaotic.</p><p>The melee is single combat, with winners facing off against one another as the number of combatants on the field decreases. The knights from Renly’s company recognize her armor, but the newcomers don’t. She defeats the first three easily, the force from her blunted morningstar sending them to the ground.</p><p>Ben Bushy is the first of her would-be suitors Brienne meets on the field; Brienne dents his chestplate and sends his helm flying.</p><p>When he’s on the ground, Bushy yells, “The one is blue armor; it’s Brienne the Beauty!”</p><p>Later, when she’s taken down five more opponents, Brienne decides to thank Bushy for yelling about her being a woman. </p><p>“They’ll <em> always </em> underestimate you because you’re a woman,” Ser Goodwin told her when she was a girl, “Use it to your advantage.” </p><p>She’s just paid Owen Inchfield back for the kiss he stole when she hears her name, shouted across the field. <em> Jaime. </em>When Brienne looks to the stands, she finds Jaime leaning over the barricade and waving at her.</p><p>“Lady Brienne,” he yells, “Keep going!”</p><p>“I had no plans to quit,” she yells back.</p><p>It’s sheer luck that she ends up facing Hyle Hunt. It’s almost like the Mother delivered him unto her. Brienne will light a candle at the sept in gratitude.</p><p>“You think you’re going to best me,” Hyle taunts when they face one another.</p><p>“I <em> know </em> I’m going to.”</p><p>Brienne blocks his first strike, and Hyle chuckles, “It seems you’ve a fan in the stands.” Jaime is <em> still </em> watching them, grinning like a cat. “I heard the Kingslayer scolded Lord Tarly on your behalf.”</p><p>
  <em> “Shut up.” </em>
</p><p>“It was just a game, Lady Brienne; there’s no need to take it so seriously.”</p><p>The lingering shame at being ridiculed emboldens her, and she hopes Hyle still thinks it’s a game right before his face is smashed into the dirt.</p><p>Brienne <em> swears </em> she can hear Jaime laughing across the field.</p>
<hr/><p>The last person Brienne faces is Loras Tyrell. The rose on his shield reminds her of Ronnet Connington. It’s not Loras’s fault, but the sight of it makes her hit twice as hard. Disarmed, Loras pulls off his helm and glares at her. </p><p>Brienne wins, leaving several of her suitors covered in bruises and bleeding.  She also has some measure of her pride restored to her, and that’s more important than any prize.</p><p>Jaime finds her after, grinning wickedly. Brienne’s in such good humor that she forgets how disheveled she must look. Her hair is matted with sweat, she’s red faced, and there's a dull ache above her right eyebrow that is certainly a cut.</p><p>“Seven hells, wench, you have <em> stamina.” </em></p><p>For some reason, the way Jaime says stamina makes an odd feeling rush through her.</p><p>“I-It’s my only advantage.”</p><p>“Are you content with your revenge?”</p><p>Brienne nods, “It felt good to best them.”</p><p>Jaime takes a step closer, “I’m glad I didn’t enter; you’re not better than me.”</p><p>“Ser,” Brienne might regret her forwardness, “We should test that.”</p><p><em> “You,” </em> he pauses, “want to fight <em> me?” </em>There’s no outright mocking in Jaime’s tone, at least none that she can see, but the way he stresses the words makes Brienne shrink back. Then, his bravado seems to falter. “I wasn’t trying to goad you.”</p><p>“...Truly?”</p><p>“It would be fun.” His grin this time has a sheepish, earnest quality. “Did you wear my favor?”</p><p>She isn’t sure what Jaime’s attention means, only that his sentiments ring truer than any of the flattery of the men she bested. Brienne tugs her right gauntlet off and holds her wrist out; the red fabric, tied to her wrist, is darkened with sweat. </p><p>“I-I did, ser.”</p><p>Even though her hand is calloused and sweaty from being trapped under her gauntlet, Jaime takes her fingers in his and squeezes. The pressure of it tingles up Brienne’s arm.</p><p>“Good.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Jaime has some naughty thoughts. 😏</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Jaime III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sleep eludes Jaime the night following the melee. </p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter contains a <i>certainly</i> anachronistic line of dialogue said by Robert Baratheon that's a reference to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Krz-dyD-UQ&amp;ab_channel=BadLipReading">"Medieval Land Fun-time World"</a>, which is still the best episode of <i>Game of Thrones.</i> When I asked my husband to help with the fic and beta read, he agreed if I included the line, since Robert would definitely be present, and the fic has a tourney. Who am I to refuse something so fucking hilarious?</p><p>I hope everyone enjoys the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleep eludes Jaime the night following the melee. </p><p>The way the moonlight illuminates his room is entirely familiar. He spent many a night as a boy staring up at the ceiling, missing Casterly Rock and wondering why Olenna demanded so many of his afternoons. His days developed a routine--training with the master-of-arms, studying sums and reading with the Maester, and tea with the Queen of Thorns. He would think of Cersei and wonder if she missed him as much as he missed her.</p><p>After he killed Aerys, Jaime asked his sister to run away with him. He gripped her hands in his and pleaded with her. “We could go to Essos and wed; no one would know us.”</p><p>Cersei had laughed and refused him. “Maybe if you’d stayed seated on the Iron Throne after you slit Aerys’s throat.</p><p><em> You only wanted to use me to help you grasp power. </em> They’d been apart so long that she seemed like an entirely different person from the girl he remembered. Or, maybe Jaime never really knew Cersei.</p><p>Tonight, he’s thinking of Brienne and the melee. Watching Brienne tear across the field, morningstar aloft, Jaime felt an emotion that had not often visited him since he was a boy. <em> Excitement. </em></p><p>When she sent her first opponent crashing to the ground, it took all Jaime had not to whoop and shout her name. It hadn’t felt so good to cheer for someone since he watched Arthur Dayne at Harrenhal twenty years ago. The thrill of watching someone skilled in combat was unmatched. It made Jaime want to pick up his sword and meet her in a practice yard. </p><p>
  <em> She looked at home. </em>
</p><p>Nowhere has felt like home in a long, long while. He’d find no respite at Casterly Rock.  Highgarden was <em> close </em> , but each time he returned, only a few turns of the moon passed before he wandered again. He imagines Brienne feels the same--that there’s no place that quite suits her, but with a sword in her hand, it all melts away. He used to feel that way before he was named <em> Kingslayer, </em>but rarely does he now. </p><p>Jaime closes his eyes, picturing Brienne, and is startled by the rush of desire that courses through him. He wills it away, not because of the object of it, but because it’s a fruitless endeavor. Desire doesn’t work like that, especially not for Jaime. He’d never been able to stop himself from wanting someone--it began with Cersei and plagued him over the decades since. </p><p>There was little beauty in Brienne, but that doesn’t matter. Her eyes were clear and deep blue like the waters of the Summer Sea off the coast of Volantis. The more Jaime thinks of her, the more the memory of her gaze bores into his soul.</p><p>If she looked too closely, Brienne would find little of worth inside him.</p><p>Nevertheless, when Brienne held up her wrist to show him the favor he’d given her, Jaime’s heart hammered in his chest like he’d just come off the tourney field himself. Brienne’s hair was matted with sweat from her helm, and her cheeks were ruddy from exertion. She was awkward and uncomfortable in conversation, but she looked magnificent on the field. For every stuttered word or hunch of her shoulders, there was a contrast when she held a weapon. Brienne looked her opponent in the eyes, stance solid and movements self-assured.</p><p>It’s the memory of Brienne’s confidence that has Jaime reaching into his loose-fitting breeches. His cock is half-hard already, so it takes precious few strokes to bring him the rest of the way. Brienne would be horrified, certainly, to learn of Jaime stroking himself, faster by the second, to thoughts of her. He’s held her hand in his own, so he can imagine the way her grip would feel in place of his own.</p><p>No lover ever accused Jaime of being selfish, so what sends him over the edge is imagining all the ways Brienne might like to be touched.</p>
<hr/><p>The second day of the tourney is the joust.</p><p>Jaime wakes feeling better rested than any night since arriving at Highgarden. He doesn’t want to attribute it to partaking in a <em> certain </em> activity, but he can’t deny that he fell asleep right after. It makes him feel his age--almost as much as a man of three-and-thirty signing up for a joust.</p><p>Dressing makes Jaime wish for a squire. If he called, someone would find him one, but he doesn’t mind the slowness. It’s been a good while since he donned full armor, preferring a boiled leather chestplate for the road. He doesn’t want anything he can’t remove on his own. Besides, the plate means he expects someone to hit him enough to mortally wound him. If that happens, it’s simply his time to meet the Stranger.</p><p>When his armor is halfway on, Jaime admits defeat; there’s buckles and closures that are beyond his reach. He clanks his way to the door of his chamber and yells into the hall; a guard comes running.</p><p>“Yes, ser?”</p><p>“Can you fetch Brienne of Tarth for me? She lodged in the castle, but she might be at the training yard by this hour.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Brienne of Tarth,” he repeats, “She’s amongst the party that came from Storm’s End. She’s <em> tall, </em> taller than me and blonder, too. Dresses in men’s garb; you won’t miss her. Ask her if she’ll come see me before the joust.”</p><p>There’s archery in the morning, and Jaime doesn’t think Brienne will care to watch it. They’ve still a few hours before he’s to head to the lists. A half hour passes before there’s a knock on his door. Jaime picks half-heartedly at his breakfast while he waits.</p><p>When he opens the door, Brienne looks <em> supremely </em> uncomfortable. The night before crashes through Jaime’s mind harder than her morningstar hit her opponents the day prior. It’s foolish, but the fact that he thought about <em> her </em> feels like it <em> must </em> be writ across his expression.</p><p>“Lady Brienne,” he says much too cheerfully, “you answered my summons.”</p><p>“I had no reason not to,” she answers, “and I...like walking through the halls.”</p><p>“It <em> is </em> a picturesque castle.” Talking about the gardens or the stained glass windows is a much safer topic. “I was hoping you could assist me with my armor.”</p><p>Brienne raises her pale brows, “Have you no squire?”</p><p>“Have <em> you </em>one?”</p><p>“I’m not a knight.” Her tone sounds resigned.</p><p>“I haven’t had a squire in fifteen years,” Jaime waves his arms, and the half-fastened straps of his pauldrons flap around. “I also haven’t worn armor this elaborate in some time.”</p><p>Brienne takes a step closer. “It’s fine armor, ser.”</p><p>“Call me Jaime. And be honest, wench, I look like an over-sized gold nugget.”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t need direction; she locates each of the closures Jaime couldn’t reach. He wouldn’t describe her touch as brusque, but she’s efficient and doesn’t linger. He finds himself wishing she would. They’re standing close enough that Jaime can feel the warmth coming off her and count the freckles on the back of her neck when she bends down.</p><p>All too soon, Brienne steps back and crosses her arms; he <em> swears </em> there’s a hint of a smile on her face. “It’s...elaborate.”</p><p>Jaime grins, “Tastelessly ostentatious; the default Lannister aesthetic.”</p><p>“Do you not prefer it?”</p><p>There’s not much room to sigh when he’s surrounded by metal, but Jaime does to the full extent possible. “Truly, I hate it.”</p><p>“Why did you sign up?” Brienne looks him up and down, but it’s a quick appraisal. “People <em> will </em> recognize you. King Robert will watch the jousts.”</p><p>“I’m trying to force myself.” Jaime shuts his eyes and sighs anew. “I’ve been avoiding--<em> anyway, </em> I’m making a grand entrance.”</p><p>Brienne’s eyes narrow in skepticism.</p><p>“Maybe I was hoping for a favor from the lady,” Jaime blithely changes the topic. “It would only be fair, since you wore mine.”</p><p>To Jaime’s <em> utter </em> delight, Brienne turns scarlet.</p><p>“You brought me one, didn’t you? A lady knight turned maiden; let me see it.”</p><p>Slowly, Brienne reaches into her pocket and pulls out a length of sapphire ribbon. “Don’t mock me,” she warns before dropping it into his gloved palm. It’s much finer than the scrap he’d given Brienne. Wobbly suns and moons repeat across the length of it.</p><p>“Yours?”</p><p>“It was meant to be a gift, long ago--regardless, it was pure sentiment that I kept it. You can laugh at my poor embroidery. I’d like to say I’m better now, but--”</p><p>Jaime holds the ribbon between his fingers and twists it. “You didn’t mind the backside when you did this; look at the knots. Your stitches are too large, too.”</p><p>Brienne reaches up to snatch it back, “Are you my wretched septa? If you don’t want it--”</p><p>“I do.” He closes his fingers around the ribbon.</p><p>“And what do <em> you </em> know about embroidery?”</p><p>“Truthfully,” he leans a bit closer, as if whispering a secret, “My sister and I used to trade places. She’d practice with the sword, and I…”</p><p>“...Would sew?”</p><p>“Olenna liked to punish me with it, too. I know just enough to criticize others, really. I can mend my own things and darn my socks.”</p><p>She looks a bit like he slapped her instead of telling her a rather banal detail of his life. </p><p>“I was told my hands were too big to do such fine work,” Brienne mumbles.</p><p>Jaime tugs off his gauntlets, meaning to loop the ribbon around his wrist, when another idea occurs to him. Instead, he gathers his hair up at best he can and ties the ribbon around it to secure it. It’s messy and pieces are already falling loose, but with a helm on, that won’t matter.</p><p>Brienne is <em> still </em> looking at him oddly, like she doesn’t know what to make of him.</p><p>“I will wear it proudly and hope it brings me victory.”</p><p>It probably won’t, through no fault of Brienne’s, but he likes the idea regardless.</p>
<hr/><p>No lady’s favor or Lannister gold armor can stop the inevitable--Loras Tyrell unseats Jaime on the second pass, sending him flying off Honor’s back and into the dusty field where the lists are held. Jaime doesn’t feel too poorly about his performance; he beat three other opponents before riding against Loras.</p><p>The Knight of Flowers is a skilled tourney knight and half Jaime’s age; he <em> should </em> win.</p><p>Ser Loras isn’t the knight they’re talking about in the crowd, though. It’s <em> Jaime Lannister </em> they whispered when he entered the field for the first time. A few people noticed him the day prior when he was seated next to Olenna, but <em> no one </em> could miss his golden armor and lion helm.</p><p>Strangely, it felt more like pretending to be himself that the sort of reclamation Jaime hoped.</p><p>A dozen ravens were probably en route to Casterly Rock. Robert would certainly tell Cersei that he’d seen her twin sent sailing off a horse.</p><p>Jaime wants to leave the field unnoticed, but a booming voice calls out to him. “Jaime <em> fucking </em> Lannister.”</p><p>He stops before the barricade to the stands and takes off his helm; his hair is completely in disarray, so he pulls the ribbon out. “King Robert; you recognized me.”</p><p>Beside him, Renly laughs, “Few wouldn’t know him that armor. I suppose it’s not the most fashionable these days.”</p><p>“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Robert laughs, “Where the <em> fuck </em> have you been?”</p><p>“Around.” Jaime wants to shout <em> fuck off, </em> but Robert <em> is </em> the king; it’s not prudent to tell a king to fuck off, <em> especially </em> the king who pardoned you for killing his predecessor. </p><p>“Had I known you would appear, I might’ve convinced the queen to come. I’ll tell her you send your love.”</p><p>“That’s <em> wholly </em> unnecessary,” Jaime tightens his grip on his helm, “Cersei and I don’t speak.”</p><p>“Ser Jaime,” Renly interrupts, “The stories about you are <em> so </em> outlandish; it’s hard to tell fact from fiction. There’s one about a pillow house in Lys that Ser Loras told me. Perhaps, at the feast tonight, you could regale us--”</p><p>Jaime holds up the hand not gripping his helm, “I’ll stop you right there. I’m not your entertainment.”</p><p>“Now, now,” Robert interrupts, “as amusing as it is, there’s little need for the two of you--”</p><p>“Lord Renly should concern himself with his own set of rumors,” Jaime levels a glare at the younger Baratheon, “and how they might reflect on his bride-to-be.”</p><p>Renly starts laughing, “What right do you have to insult me at my own tourney, Kingslayer?”</p><p>“As much right as any man at any time,” Jaime responds. Renly’s flippancy grates on him; the fool has no idea about the going-ons of his own camp and little care for what his behavior will do to Margaery. </p><p><em> “Seven hells,” </em>Robert bellows, “if I wanted to hear such bitching, I’d sit with the fucking women. It’d be better than listening to you two chodes. At least I can fuck the serving wenches.”</p>
<hr/><p>There’s an empty seat next to Olenna that Jaime collapses into now that he’s out of the running. He takes off his gauntlets first, then his helm. His hair is damp and sticking to his head. Jaime gathers his hair up again and re-ties the bow.</p><p>Olenna gives him a <em> look. </em></p><p>“What? It’s a favor.”</p><p>“It’s a hair ribbon.” </p><p>The ponytail feels off-center on his head, but at least his hair is off his neck. “I had to display it somewhere.” </p><p>When Olenna reaches up and grabs Jaime’s hair to pull his head down to her level, he does his best not to yelp at the force behind it. Despite having fingers that look like they’re made of bird bones, she’s quite strong. Olenna peers at the ribbon and starts chuckling.</p><p>“Brienne of Tarth.”</p><p>“What of it?” Jaime tries not to sound peevish.</p><p>“The girl isn’t beautiful,” Olenna replies, “and I don’t think anyone could accuse her of being a scintillating conversationalist.”</p><p>“We can’t all have your acerbic wit, Olenna.” Jaime tugs his hair out of her grasp and sits upright again. “I thought you reserved your insults for the many men you find lacking.”</p><p>“There’s no shortage of those, boy,” she laughs again, “And if you’d hold your fool tongue and let me finish, I was going to praise the girl.”</p><p>“...Truly?” Olenna won’t forgive his skepticism.</p><p>“I know your mind; you like that she dresses like a man and wields a sword.”</p><p>Well, <em> that </em> phrasing just makes him sound peculiar. “I like that she sought retribution for herself.”</p><p>“You’re wearing her favor.” Olenna looks like she might pull his hair again, so Jaime moves as far away as he can without leaving the chair. </p><p>“I’m sure Lady Brienne was just expressing her gratitude that I cheered for her.”</p><p>Olenna’s toothless grin is somehow very sly. “That you did. I haven’t seen you look that excited in <em> decades. </em> I do want to point out that she is <em> Lady </em> Brienne.”</p><p>“So?” Jaime scowls.</p><p>“Her father is the lord of Tarth, and if I remember correctly, Brienne is his sole heir.”</p><p>Jaime is taken aback. <em> Her father let her ride away to join Lord Renly’s guard when he has no other children? </em> He assumed Brienne was a second daughter, and that she <em> certainly </em> had a brother or two.</p><p>Olenna continues, “The girl is highborn and unwed; she must be at least ten-and-eight. I’m assuming she’s a challenge to find a match for.”</p><p>“I...can see how that might be the case.” Most men wouldn’t suffer their wife to take up martial pursuits. Brienne’s lack of delicate features or heaving bosom would also be a detractor. </p><p>Jaime, however, isn’t most men.</p><p>“You’re fond of her.”</p><p>“Not in the slightest.”</p><p>“If you mind your tongue, perhaps you could court her.”</p><p>“Perhaps I don’t wish to marry.” He crosses his arms and leans back in his seat. Before him, a lance smashes into a shield, but the knight says mounted. “Maybe I just appreciate her as a fellow warrior.”</p><p>Jaime can lie well enough to himself, but someone who knows him will see right through the facade.</p><p>Olenna shakes her head in disappointment, “You’re the most romantic idiot of a man I’ve ever laid eyes on. <em> Of course </em> you want to marry, and you want it to be for love, of all the ridiculous things.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em> Court Brienne. </em>
</p><p>Jaime laughs at Olenna’s idea for the entire rest of the day, as a clumsy squire helps him remove his armor, as he walks back to his chambers and calls for a bath, and as he flops naked onto his bed and stares at the ceiling.</p><p>Courting was shy, maidenly glances and poetry read under a balcony in the moonlight. Courting was tokens and flowers and music. It was also what made Randyll Tarly call Brienne into his pavilion and assert it was <em> her </em> fault the men in the camp were too distracted by their fucking game. Jaime knows the skepticism that crosses Brienne’s face when she’s paid a kindness; she waits for the trick, for the other shoe to drop, for the malice to show. </p><p>It took Olenna pointing Jaime’s feelings out, but he <em> does </em> like Brienne of Tarth. There’s a forthrightness to her, a sense of honor that bordered on rigidity. She was a paragon of knightly virtues. Nothing had ruined that dream for her, yet, even though the scorn and resistance she faced should’ve ripped the idealism from her.</p><p>He finds other things that allure him, too--her dramatic blushes, the kindness he’s certain she keeps harbored within her, her stubborn persistence. Jaime suspects she has a wry sense of humor, too. </p><p><em> Maybe I could court her. </em> Jaime’s never experienced a shortage of attention, despite refusing nearly everyone. Surely, he could woo Brienne of Tarth.</p>
<hr/><p>Margaery’s wedding to Renly is the following morning, when the light in Highgarden’s sept is most radiant. She looks resplendent in a gown of gray and green silk, and the entire ceremony is lovely. Jaime finds himself looking at the back of Loras’s head, two rows ahead of him, and wondering what he’s thinking. What Margaery is doing is a kindness, in a way, and as long as all the involved parties understand the arrangement, then it’s not Jaime’s place to judge.</p><p>The scene makes him feel a twinge of sadness; maybe Olenna had a point about his romantic heart. </p><p>He hasn’t seen Brienne since the morning prior, and there’s no sign of her in the sept.</p><p>Three nights of feasting and dancing are to follow the ceremony. At Casterly Rock, his father always used hospitality as oppressively as possible. The food and environment were so controlled that no guest would dare step a toe out of line. There was enough of everything to be polite but never excess.</p><p>The Tyrell’s show their power through opulence that borders on hedonism. There’s enough food, drink, and dancing to satisfy even the most ardent of merrymakers. Even Robert fucking Baratheon couldn’t complain. From his place at the head table, Jaime watches as course after course of food and drink are foisted on the guests. He makes conversation with Willas, Garlan, and Loras and laughs half-heartedly at Renly’s jokes. Robert is distracted by some buxom Hightower cousin. The king will probably fuck her; it makes him feel an uncomfortable pang of sympathy for Cersei, leagues and leagues away.</p><p>The evening passes, and there’s <em> no </em> sign of Brienne of Tarth.</p><p>“Grandmother sent someone so make sure Lady Brienne knew she was invited,” Margaery whispers to him. The yellow and black of her bride’s cloak clashes with her gown. Jaime tries not to take it as a sign of future discontent. “I’d hate to think of her celebrating with my lord husband’s men.”</p><p><em> I hate to think that, too. </em>Brienne could defend herself, but Jaime can imagine there’s little comfort around a bunch of drunken soldiers and whores.</p><p>“I didn’t see her in the sept, either,” Jaime answers.</p><p>“Perhaps, when the dancing begins, you should look for her?”</p>
<hr/><p>It takes the better part of half an hour and asking several servants, but Jaime finds Brienne seated on a bench under a willow tree surrounded by azaleas. It’s a pretty corner of the garden, but made less so by the fact that Brienne is clearly crying. There’s no sound, but her broad shoulders are shaking, and her head is bowed.</p><p>“Wench?” </p><p>Brienne doesn’t turn but replies, “Go away, ser.”</p><p>“Now, what have I done to earn such rudeness?”</p><p>“N-Nothing. I only wish to be left in peace.”</p><p>“My lady.” Olenna would strike him, again, for calling Brienne wench. “You weren’t at the ceremony <em> or </em> the feast.”</p><p>“I was at the ceremony, just seated in the very back.”</p><p>He places the plate on the bench next to her, “I got you food, but it’s probably cold by now.”</p><p>Brienne looks at him, and scrubs at her eyes with the back of one large hand. “Thank you. I-I couldn’t face the feasting hall.”</p><p><em> Shy? Self-conscious? </em> Probably both. She’s still dressed in breeches and a tunic, but they’re of a finer make, and the tunic bears Tarth’s sigil. Jaime can’t <em> quite </em> imagine her in a gown.</p><p>There’s enough space next to her, so Jaime sits. For a few moments, the only sounds are cicadas and Brienne’s fork and knife clanking against the plate resting on her legs.</p><p>“Do they not hold feasts on Tarth in your father’s keep?”</p><p>“T-they do,” she answers, “but they’re not quite so...elaborate.”</p><p>Jaime taps his fingers against the stone bench, “Margaery told me you were invited.”</p><p>Brienne looks away, “I was.”</p><p>She’s answering his questions without really giving him any information, so Jaime decides to make the most absurd guess he can think of. “You can’t face the feast because you’re in love with Renly Baratheon and seeing him wed is too great a heartache.”</p><p>The fork clatters to the plate, and when Jaime looks at Brienne, she’s covering her face with her hands. “Go ahead, mock me for it. Call me a foolish, <em> hideous </em> little girl.”</p><p>Jaime reaches out, hand hovering over Brienne’s shoulder, not making contact. “You know, Renly Baratheon will <em> never </em> look your way. I suppose, if he saw you from behind, you’d stand a chance, but the minute you faced him--”</p><p>Brienne looks up; there’s fury in her eyes and fresh tears on her cheeks.</p><p>Olenna asked Jaime once, when he was quite young, if he enjoyed the taste of his boots after he said something foolhardy. </p><p>
  <em> No, they’re not delicious in the slightest. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Jaime removes his foot and puts his mouth to better use. 😏</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Brienne III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Crying is <i>mortifying.</i></p><p>Brienne has her pride. She’s been crying alone since Roelle told her tears made her even more unsightly. She’s been crying alone since her father told her that words were wind and that, as the heir to the Evenstar, she shouldn’t let the remarks of others get to her.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you, as always, for all your amazing comments! 🥰</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crying is <em> mortifying. </em> </p><p>Brienne has her pride. She’s been crying alone since Roelle told her tears made her even more unsightly. She’s been crying alone since her father told her that words were wind and that, as the heir to the Evenstar, she shouldn’t let the remarks of others get to her.</p><p>Yet, here she is, shedding tears like a lovesick girl. Worse yet, Jaime caught her. A foolish part of Brienne wants Jaime to think well of her, to think she’s worthy of being a knight, but her tears will have undone that.</p><p>Then, he speaks the truth she’s always known--that Renly would<em> never </em>look at her.</p><p>“I know it, <em> ser,” </em> she practically spits the title that will never be hers. “Leave me alone.”</p><p>Jaime hand hovers near her shoulder until he draws it back into his lap. “I spoke thoughtlessly; please, allow me to fix it.”</p><p>“Are you going to list all the things that make me ugly?” </p><p>“No,” Jaime sounds genuinely surprised by the idea, “I wasn’t thinking of that.”</p><p>Brienne glares at him, “How do you think to persuade me not to get up and leave?”</p><p>“I’ll tell you the meaning behind my poorly-chosen words.” Jaime lowers his voice to a barely-audible whisper, “Renly and Loras are lovers.”</p><p><em> The rumors. </em>“I-I’ve heard the men joke about it, but I wasn’t sure…Does Lady Margaery know?”</p><p>Jaime rests his hands, palms flat, on the bench and leans back to look up at the boughs of the willow. “She does, and she doesn’t mind.”</p><p>
  <em> “Really?” </em>
</p><p>“I spoke to her, but she was set on her course. Mace arranged the match, but if Margaery <em> truly </em> was unwilling, Olenna would intervene.”</p><p><em> That’s kind of her. </em>Brienne scrubs the heels of her hands over her eyes, “Highborn girls rarely choose their husbands.”</p><p>“It’s for Loras’s sake. Margaery accused me of being romantic about it.”</p><p>“Romantic?”</p><p>Jaime is <em> offensively </em> handsome; his beauty is known across the Seven Kingdoms almost as much as his deeds. Other than the ridiculous rumors, Brienne has no tangible evidence that he’s a womanizer. Many of the ladies in the stands at the joust had cheered for him, but he didn’t pander to any of their attention.</p><p><em> No, he only wore your ribbon. </em>That’s a line of thought that will take Brienne nowhere that won’t cause her pain. Jaime is wearing the ribbon now, too, tied in a slightly lopsided bow that holds his hair back.</p><p>“Margaery is like a sister to me; I want her to be loved.” Jaime sighs. “She thinks happiness can be found in the arrangement, though.”</p><p>“It’s practical.” Brienne had been willing to be practical, too, until her suitors mocked or spurned her. “She’ll have knowledge of a secret as leverage. Lord Renly won’t be unkind.”</p><p>“Practicality is overrated.” The smile Jaime gives her creates a knot in Brienne’s stomach. It’s entirely too charming, and she hates how easily it seems to grace his fine features. “You should consider yourself lucky; I’ve had two conversations with Renly, and he’s as engaging as stale bread.”</p><p>“Lord Renly is an honorable man.”</p><p>“He’s an arrogant simpleton with the depth of a puddle. I’m glad Loras is pleased, but I wouldn’t waste a moment on him, and you shouldn’t either.”</p><p>Brienne’s angry, too, because Jaime is a man and has the privilege to have choices. Some of the feeling leaks into her tone when she replies, “Women don’t have such options.”</p><p>Jaime looks crestfallen, shoulders slumping and another heavier sigh leaving him. “Running as I have is a privilege. I misspoke, before, Lady Brienne. I do it frequently and deserve no deference for it.”</p><p>Even his contrition is charming. Brienne hears herself forgiving him. “It’s fine, ser. The truth isn’t cruel.”</p><p>Or, that’s the lie she comforts herself with.</p><p>“I’ll tell you another truth, but you might like it even less.” Jaime glances upward again. “I’ve an...affection for you.”</p><p>“A-An <em> affection?” </em></p><p>“Don’t sound so sour about the idea, wench--unless, you dislike me <em> that </em> much.” There’s genuine vulnerability in the second half, like her refusal might wound him. The concept seems ridiculous.</p><p>“I-I don’t dislike you,” she replies. It’s a gross understatement. “I can’t see <em> why </em> you’d seek me out.”</p><p>“Because I’ve never met anyone like you.” Jaime reaches across the space between them and takes her hand. Brienne’s are larger than his, and it seems even more ridiculous that Jaime would touch her. “Sit with me at the feast tomorrow evening.”</p><p>“At the head table?”</p><p>“Or I can sit elsewhere. You’re welcome, either way. Olenna and Margaery like you.”</p><p>Brienne tries to extract her hand from his. “Y-you jest, ser.”</p><p>Jaime brings his other hand to Brienne’s chin and forces her to look at him. Brienne tries to maintain her defiance, but Jaime’s eyes are warm, and the color reminds her of summer leaves. It’s too hard to keep up the barrier.</p><p>“I’m thoughtless,” he says, “and any who’ve called me a knave or dishonorable, their words have merit. I’m not the best man; I don’t even feel like a decent one most days. I can promise you, though, that I <em> despise </em> schemes and injustices.”</p><p>
  <em> He was so angry with Randyll Tarly. </em>
</p><p>“I believe you.”</p><p>It’s like something fractures in Jaime, opening a chasm of some emotion that’s too fathomless for Brienne to understand with only a glimpse. He doesn’t speak, only takes her empty plate from the bench and puts it on the ground. It is the only physical barrier between them; with it gone, Jaime pulls Brienne to him.</p><p>Then, he kisses her.</p><p>And it’s <em> nothing </em> like Owen Inchfield’s panting, stale breath against her lips. It’s nothing like all the threats that have been made against her since she left Tarth. Brienne doesn’t feel forced, doesn’t want to shove Jaime back and run. One hand clasps hers, and the other cups her cheek. Jaime moves his lips against hers slowly, pulling back and giving her space. Brienne finds she wants no space, so she chases his kisses with her own unpracticed ones.</p><p>After a long moment, Jaime darts his tongue out--a gentle request.</p><p>After that, it’s a heady mix of hands and lips. Brienne’s head swims from the contact, and she feels a bit drunk. Jaime slides his fingers into the fine strands of her hair and tilts her head to secure a better angle. In return, Brienne grows bold and wraps her arm around his back, touches his cheek and feels his beard tickle her palm.</p><p>Jaime breaks away, breathing hard, and leans his forehead against hers. “Brienne, can you repeat that?”</p><p>“E-Excuse me?”</p><p>“The last thing you said.”</p><p>Brienne struggles to recall. “I...<em> oh, </em>that I-I believe you?”</p><p><em> “Yes.” </em>Jaime sounds relieved, and she isn’t sure why. “Can I count on that?”</p><p>“As long as you’re honest, ser.”</p><p>Jaime chuckles, and it makes Brienne feel warm, like sitting in a hot bath. “The only mutual disappointment my father and Olenna share is my despising of intrigue.”</p><p>“I mislike tricks, too.”</p><p>He pulls her into a loose embrace; Brienne wouldn’t mind if Jaime were a bit closer. </p><p>“Good.”</p><hr/><p>Much can change in the span of a day. It’s a lesson Brienne learned in childhood; one moment, Galladon and she were swimming in the waters off Tarth, and the next her brother’s body washed up on the beach, and Brienne was an only child. </p><p>What Brienne is unused to are the developments being positive.</p><p>Over the last day, she’s been kissed, sincerely, and the next morning, a runner informs her that Lady Margaery has invited her riding.</p><p>Margaery looks beautiful in her forest-green riding gown, and the mare she rides seems sweet and temperate. Brienne feels like a stumbletongue giantess in comparison, but Margaery pays her awkwardness no mind as they ride into the green fields outside Highgarden.</p><p>“How old are you, Lady Brienne?” Margaery asks when they’re some ways outside the castle walls. They have a guard, but the men keep enough distance that their conversation is private.</p><p>“Eighteen, my lady.”</p><p>“You’ve three years on me,” Margaery replies, “and so many more experiences. You sailed to Storm’s End, then rode all down the Kingsroad and the Roseroad.”</p><p>“It...wasn’t exciting,” Brienne finds herself embarrassed to go into too many details. “Long days in the saddle, and men can be rude.” </p><p>Margaery laughs, “Yes, that’s a kind way of stating it. Grandmother spent much of my girlhood telling me the ways of men.”</p><p>It hurts Brienne to ask, but it feels like the polite course. “Is...Lord Renly, do you find him a kind husband?”</p><p>“Well,” one side of Margaery’s mouth lifts in a smile, “It’s only been a day, but yes, I believe I do.”</p><p>She thinks of what Jaime told her the night prior in the garden. <em> Was the marriage even consummated? </em>“Lord Renly visited Evenfall on his coming of age tour. H-He danced with me, even though I’m tall and awkward. I...remember it fondly. He was kind.”</p><p>Margaery’s smile shifts to something warmer, “He <em> is </em> kind, Lady Brienne. I think the arrangement will be an agreeable one for all of us.”</p><p>Before speaking to Jaime, Brienne wouldn’t have thought to ask of Margaery’s affections for Renly. It matters not--the one Renly loves is neither of them. Suddenly, Brienne feels sad for Margaery.</p><p>“I hope it’s such,” she replies, “Ser Jaime worries about you.”</p><p>“Jaime shouldn’t,” Margaery giggles, “Grandmother raised us both to take care of ourselves. Now, tell me of Storm’s End, since it’s to be my home.”</p><p>As they ride further from Highgarden, Brienne does. Aside from a few visits in her girlhood, she was only at Storm’s End a few weeks. She gives Margaery every detail she can recall of the castle and its inhabitants. They ride through the rolling hills and orchards, and Brienne wonders if Margaery is memorizing the landscape of her home. Brienne did the same the last time she rode on Tarth.</p><p>
  <em> In case I never return. </em>
</p><p>Margaery is a much better conversationalist than Brienne could ever hope to be. She leads their dialogue and doesn’t mind the halting silences. Brienne’s never been adept at reading people’s intentions, but Margaery’s queries seem aimed at genuinely getting to know her.</p><p>On their return trip, Margaery guides her horse close to Brienne’s and leans in conspiratorially, “Jaime speaks <em> quite </em> fondly of you.”</p><p>Brienne damns her cheeks for blushing so easily, “D-Does he?”</p><p>“He’s <em> very </em> handsome, isn’t he?” Margaery states it as though it’s a tragic character flaw.</p><p>“Everyone seems to think so.” <em> Because it’s the truth. </em> “There’s rumors about his...way with women.” <em> How many women have fallen at his feet? </em>Brienne supposes she’s among them, now.</p><p>“I’ve never heard Jaime mention a lover, and he’s taken no wife.”</p><p>“That’s...he has a duty to his house.”</p><p>“You sound like Grandmother. Jaime visits, but then he runs off too quickly for any match to be made.” Margaery nods and pulls her tumble of curls over her shoulder. Brienne is envious of how lovely her hair is. “He’ll visit for a season, but he always leaves abruptly.”’</p><p>“Ser Jaime confuses me.”</p><p>“If you look closely, you’ll see that he’s kind,” Margaery answers, “He’s just a bit of an ass on the surface.”</p><p><em> He kissed me. </em> Brienne can’t bring herself to say that. <em> What if Margaery laughs at the impossibility of it? </em> She half thought it was a dream.</p><p>“No one has ever cheered for me,” Brienne says instead.</p><p>“Grandmother thinks the two of you should wed.”</p><p>All manners forgotten, Brienne shouts, <em> “What?!” </em></p><p>“We’d be sisters, and if you live on Tarth, I could visit.”</p><p><em> “Why </em> would we live on Tarth?” Daughters always leave home when they wed.”</p><p>Margaery giggles; Brienne realizes <em> just </em> what the question presumes, and blushes to the ends of her hair.</p><hr/><p>They return from their ride just before midday, and <em> somehow </em> Margaery finds a dress for Briennne to wear. She tries to refuse it at least a half-dozen times, but Margaery is quite persistent.</p><p>After the last time she asks, Margaery takes Brienne’s hands in her dainty ones and says, “Unless you’d <em> truly </em> prefer not to, Lady Brienne.”</p><p>“I-I don’t mind, as long as it fits properly.”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t hate dresses, but she <em> does </em> hate that no one has ever tried to help her figure out what suits her. Breeches and tunics are more practical, especially given her choice of martial pursuits, but a well-fitting gown would be…</p><p>Well, it would be <em> nice. </em></p><p>The dressmaker her father brought over from Storm’s End annually only cared about the latest fashions from King’s Landing and grew progressively more frustrated when dainty lace and pastel silks from Essos only highlighted Brienne’s stature and unfeminine appearance. She’d stand in a room with the dressmaker and Septa Roelle for <em> hours, </em>trying to hold back tears over how wretched she looked in everything.</p><p>The dress Margaery chooses has to be modified--the bodice made for a rounder woman than Brienne, but the skirt has enough extra fabric to accommodate Brienne’s height. She clutches the fabric to her chest when she tries it on, but Margaery and her dressmaker do some sorcery with pins. When Brienne looks in the mirror, she isn’t <em> too </em> horrified.</p><p>“Blue suits you,” Margaery says. </p><p>“It...does?”</p><p>“It’s good for your coloring, and it matches your eyes.”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t know about any of that, but she <em> does </em> know that neither Margaery nor her dressmaker complain about her size or appearance while they were pinning the dress.</p><hr/><p>“Lady Brienne, a <em> dress?” </em></p><p>Brienne freezes as Jaime’s green gaze looks her up and down. Part of her wants to run, or hug her arms around herself like that will shield her from scorn. She stared at the looking glass in her room for a quarter hour, feeling as vain as she ever had. Now, Brienne wonders if she should run back to her room and forget the entire feast.</p><p>“L-Lady Margaery said--”</p><p>“Margaery’s always had impeccable taste,” Jaime grins and tilts his head, “Blue is a fine color on you. The cut is flattering, too.”</p><p>Nervous, Brienne rubs her palms over the front of the blue silk; she imagines her calloused palms catching on the fabric and snagging it. They don’t.</p><p>“T-The bodice is padded,” she babbles, “The shape, I-I don’t have--”</p><p>Jaime starts laughing, but it’s a rich and pleasant sound, “You don’t have to admit that part. We all keep little secrets.”</p><p>It seems impossible that Jaime would harbor any such secrets; he looks <em> perfect. </em> His doublet is a dark crimson velvet. Brienne imagines running her fingers over the fabric. It’s unadorned, but he looks every bit a Lannister. It surprises her to see Jaime’s hair pulled back from his face again. When he turns to sit, she sees it’s tied back with the ribbon she’d given him.</p><p>
  <em> He’s beautiful.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s beautiful, and he’s still wearing my favor </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s beautiful, and he’s still wearing my favor, and he kissed me. </em>
</p><p>Brienne hopes the flush doesn’t spread to her neck and chest. The gown has a lower neckline than anything she’s worn, and all her freckles are bad enough without her blotchy blushing.</p><p>Jaime is still grinning when he holds out his arm and leads Brienne to the table. She sits between him and Margaery. Renly is next to Margaery, and Olenna is beside Jaime. They spend the first two courses talking, but Brienne doesn’t mind listening. She doesn’t know what to add to the conversation, anyway. A server keeps refilling Jaime’s cup with mead, and he keeps drinking deeply from it until his cheeks are flushed.</p><p>Renly tells some tales of his prowess during a hunt. He laughs overlong at his own jokes and gets a disinterested look in his eyes when the conversation turns away from him. The only person who gets his full attention in Loras. Brienne feels a bit like she’s seeing Renly for the first time.</p><p>The evening is pleasant. Maybe some of the other guests spare her too long a glance, but Jaime’s leg bumps against hers under the table, and that softens the awkwardness.</p><p>“Do you dance?” Jaime whispers at the end of the meal.</p><p>“I <em> can,” </em>Brienne answers, “but I’m too tall.”</p><p>“Does that somehow impact the quality of your footwork?”</p><p>“People...stare.”</p><p><em> “Fuck </em> that,” Jaime stands up, “and fuck them. They’ll all be looking at me, anyway.”</p><p>Brienne laughs, but it’s more like a snort, so she covers her mouth with her hand. “That’s <em> quite </em> egotistical of you, ser.”</p><p>“Are you <em> chiding </em> me, wench?”</p><p>“...Perhaps.”</p><p>Brienne recognizes the song even without the lyrics. It’s a love song her father requested often when she was a girl. She always wondered if the song reminded him of her mother, but it was too painful to ask. Jaime pulls her to her feet and leads her to the open area between the tables where other pairs are gathering. The steps to the dance are simple and familiar--one of the many Roelle used to force her to practice with books balanced on her head. </p><p>Coordination and balance were never the issue; Brienne was only scolded for things that were immutable. </p><p>The last man she danced with was Renly. She remembers how her heartbeat felt so loud that he could surely hear it. Renly’s handsome face was <em> so </em> close to hers, and he smelled like the evergreen forests on Tarth. When Renly held his hand in her and put the other at her hip, Brienne thought she was going to swoon.</p><p>Renly’s touch was courteous, but Brienne understands now that it held no affection.</p><p>Jaime’s hand at her hip grips a bit tighter than he ought, and his thumb makes minute circles over the silk of her gown. He grins at her and whispers gossip and tidbits about other guests; all the details remind Brienne of the things ladies would discuss while sewing. At one point, Brienne realizes she’s leading, but Jaime never tries to correct it.</p><p>It <em> feels </em> like everyone is looking at her, so she looks at Jaime.</p><p>The effect the mead has on Jaime is noticeable--his eyes are bright and his skin is flushed. Without the music, his voice would be a touch too loud.</p><p>During the third song, Jaime’s expression turns bashful as he leans into her, “This attention is the punishment for my vanishing act.”</p><p>Brienne wants to know why he runs when everyone here seems to welcome him; it’s much too forward a thing to ask, so she holds her tongue. “It’s just as likely me.”</p><p>“You’re <em> amazing.” </em>Jaime says the second word with vehemence. “You made it all the way from Tarth surrounded by those cunts, then you won the melee--”</p><p>“I-I’m not so accomplished,” Brienne glances away and sees Renly dancing with Margaery; they look lovely together, but it’s just an illusion of simplicity. “I’m only...pigheaded.”</p><p>“It’s an admirable quality.”</p><p>Brienne shakes her head, “No one minds if a son is willful, but for a daughter to be, it’s a disgrace.”</p><p>“That’s foolishly simpleminded. Who wants a simpering partner?” Brienne can’t help but wonder if Lady Olenna fostered that viewpoint. </p><p>“Most lords, according to the septa from my girlhood.”</p><p>“Well, what the fuck does she know?” Jaime nearly yells; the pair next to them glances over. “The mead has...loosened my tongue.”</p><p>“I can see that, ser.”</p><p>“And it’s made me honest,” the tone of Jaime’s voice makes her stomach drop, “I want to kiss you again.”</p><p>“...Y-You do?”</p><p>“I was always scolded for my impatience.” Jaime brings his head close to hers so their cheeks are nearly touching. Brienne shivers in anticipation. “I want anything you’ll have me for.”</p><p>Brienne lets out a shaky exhale, “A-Anything?”</p><p><em> “Anything. </em> I think you want the same. <em> ” </em></p><p>She nearly stops dancing and causes a collision with the couple closest. Jaime takes the lead and navigates them away. </p><p>“That’s <em> quite </em> forward of you, ser.” Sabotaging her desires isn’t what Brienne wants, but it feels much safer in its familiarity than whatever dark, inviting thing Jaime is suggesting. <em> He speaks the truth like he pulled it straight from my thoughts. </em></p><p>Jaime chuckles into her ear, “If you’re going to slap me, I’d like the dignity of it being in private.”</p><p>“I’d <em> never </em>strike you.”</p><p>The affection, the <em> desire </em> in Jaime eyes when he moves to look at her nearly makes Brienne’s knees buckle. Only her faith in his promise not to trick her keeps her looking back at him. The song ends, and they’re left there, trapped in a world of just the two of them.</p><p>“I’ve never liked coy games.” Jaime brings her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. “Why dance around something we both desire?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, <i>actual</i> spicy content! I'm not being coy, I swear.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Jaime IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“My chambers are too far away,” he says, “and don’t call me that.”</p><p>“Ser?”</p><p>“If you’re going to kiss me, call me by my name.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you, as usual, for all the wonderful comments and kudos!</p><p>Finally, some <i>actual</i> spicy content.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne and he dance for another song, but as the music winds down, Jaime guides them to the perimeter of the room. Margaery catches his eye at one point and gives him a smirk that’s <em> entirely </em> too knowing. Olenna has a matching expression that Jaime’s seen countless times.</p><p>Hells, Jaime probably has one, too--a byproduct of years spent in the company of The Queen of Thorns.</p><p>When the music stops, Jaime pulls Brienne into a darkened hall leading off the ballroom. It’s not the one that leads to his chambers, but if they walk long enough, all the hallways connect eventually. It occurs to him after a few steps that they don’t need to reach his chambers; the castle has dozens of unused rooms. Jaime gives into his desires quickly, and Brienne’s eyes on him aren’t helping his endurance. The mead doesn’t aid the situation, either.</p><p><em> “Oh, </em>fuck this.”</p><p>Jaime tugs Brienne through the nearest door. She gasps when he pushes her against it before bolting it shut. Then, he places one hand beside her head and presses their bodies together. There’s nothing yielding about her muscular torso, and Jaime’s head starts to spin.</p><p>“S-Ser?” </p><p>“My chambers are too far away,” he says, “and don’t call me that.”</p><p>“Ser?”</p><p>“If you’re going to kiss me, call me by my name.”</p><p>“J-Jaime.” Her tone is breathy and low.</p><p><em> “Brienne,” </em>he answers, “kiss me.”</p><p>There’s a bit of hesitation, so Jaime presses their bodies closer together. Perhaps if Brienne feels his half-hard cock, she’ll understand. <em> It also might send her running. </em></p><p>Brienne puts her lips against his. He found his eyes wandering to her full lips all through dinner and remembering the feel of them. She seems unsure where to place her hands but settles on clasping them together at his back. Jaime shows his approval by humming against her and darting his tongue out to hopefully find hers. Brienne sighs, quite girlishly. The heat of her tongue sliding against his is going to endanger Jaime’s life more than any fight in the last decade.</p><p>Her movements are shy but more emboldened than the night prior in the garden. Jaime cares little for technique. Warmth and ardor make fumbling wonderful. He’s never cared for puzzles, except ones he can figure out with his hands. He slides one hand into Brienne’s hair, mussing the plait, and places the other on her hip.</p><p>Jaime needs to tell Brienne the inferno she’s stoking within him. He also needs air in his lungs, so he reluctantly breaks the kiss. “You’re <em> maddening,” </em> he gulps for air, “and becoming adept at this <em> startlingly </em> quickly.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she whispers, “I...think?”</p><p>
  <em> “More.” </em>
</p><p>The next kiss is languid and drawn out. Jaime feels like he’s going to melt and slide to the floor from the heat. Brienne’s arms at his back keep him upright. Wanting someone consumes him like wildfire--burning until he expires or is granted the contact he’s craving. It’s rare, intense, and devastating. Jaime would offer anything Brienne asked to keep her close.</p><p>Brienne’s lips are sweet. Jaime wonders if the rest of her skin is, too. She lets out a small cry of protest when he ends the kiss, but it turns into a fluttery sigh when his lips land on her jaw. </p><p>“J-Jaime--”</p><p>“I wonder,” Jaime nuzzles where Brienne’s neck meets her shoulder and scrapes his teeth over her collarbone. The cut of her dress is <em> perfect. </em> “How would you say my name with my cock inside you?”</p><p>There’s a sharp inhale. Jaime wonders if he’s gone a step too far. He can hear Olenna scolding him; criticisms often come in her stern cadence. <em> You said </em> that <em> to a highborn lady? She’s not your whore, you fool. </em>“Forgive me.” Chagrined, Jaime presses gentle kisses along Brienne’s shoulder where fabric meets skin, hoping it will guide them to safer territory.</p><p>“It makes me feel--” Brienne hesitates, fingers clutching the velvet of his doublet, “Y-You don’t have to stop.”</p><p>Ideas blossom in Jaime’s mind, almost faster than he can land on them. Brienne sinking to the floor, limp, after he crawled under her skirts and put his mouth on her. Clashing blades in the yard then fucking, rough and quick, in a dark corner of the armory. Laying her out on his bed like a prize won and praising every inch of her until she begs him to fuck her.</p><p>“You might regret granting me such permissions.”</p><p>Brienne shivers and reaches up gingerly touching the ribbon holding his hair. “I-I trust you.”</p><p>He scrapes his beard over the soft skin at the top of Brienne’s breasts where the bodice creates a slight swell; perhaps she’ll bear the signs of his ministrations later. Brienne looks stunning in armor wielding a morningstar, but the dress is <em>delightful. </em>When Jaime sags, she pushes her knee between his, and Jaime lets out a hiss of pleasure when his cock meets Brienne’s thigh. He ruts against her, and Brienne doesn’t yield. Their eyes meet in the moonlight. <em>Calm, even now.</em></p><p>
  <em> “Wench.” </em>
</p><p>“I-I may be a maiden, but I’m not ignorant.” Brienne takes his face between her hands and kisses him. </p><p>The hard muscle of her thigh and the friction of the layers of fabric send Jaime spiraling. He <em> wants </em> to fuck her, but he’s too desparate for release, and a lady deserves better than being pushed against a door in a darkened sitting room. His legs quake as he rocks against her with ever increasing fervor. Jaime thinks of <em> more-- </em>her hand, her mouth, her cunt. </p><p>Brienne stops kissing him and pulls him close. He presses his cheek against hers, closer than when they danced.</p><p>“Do you know how you look with a blade in your hand? I <em> loved </em> watching you, knowing you were wearing my favor.” </p><p>“I-I liked that, too, and that you wore mine.” She touches his hair once more and loosens the ribbon.</p><p>“I’m sorry I didn’t win; I’d have crowned you my queen.”</p><p>“I’m no beauty,” she mumbles. “Everyone would laugh if you put a wreath of flowers on my head.”</p><p>“Then everyone else is a fool.<em> ” </em> Jaime’s <em> so </em> close, and it’s getting harder to control the words spilling out of his mouth. “I’d fuck you while you wore it, and you’d look <em> glorious-- </em>a warrior maiden. Well, until I had you, at least.”</p><p>“A-And then?”</p><p>“Still a warrior, but <em> mine.” </em></p><p>Instead of pushing him away, Brienne lets out a shaky moan that’s loud enough that she pulls her hand from his hair and slaps it over her mouth. Jaime feels a wave building within him, and it’s exactly what craves, but it’s also a bit embarrassing. He comes with a gutteral shout and his face buried in Brienne’s shoulder.</p><p>Brienne holds him through it, which is quite gracious of her given that he’s made a mess of his breeches in his haste. When Jaime has calmed, he notices Brienne’s shoulders are shaking with laughter. His hair is unbound, and Brienne’s clutching her ribbon in her hand. </p><p>Jaime’s glad the room is darkened so Brienne can’t see that his face feels hot as a forge. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t judge the merits of taking me as a lover on this incident alone.”</p><p>He can hear the smile in Brienne’s voice, “I’d never, ser.” </p><p>Jaime can’t help but smile in return, “Olenna told me I’d be wise to court you, but I doubt she meant <em> quite </em> like this.”</p><hr/><p>Brienne’s room is closer.</p><p>Thankfully, they don’t pass a soul on the journey there. She walks a bit ahead of him, ready to shield him from an onlooker. It wouldn’t be effective, but the courtesy is strangely touching. By the time they reach Brienne’s door, Jaime wants to take her into his arms again.</p><p>As soon as Brienne lights the candles on her bedside table, she pushes a set of clothing into Jaime’s arms. Her cheeks are red, and she’s not making eye contact. “You can borrow these.”</p><p>“I could manage getting back to my chamber but thank you, my lady.” The phrasing is such a courtly contrast to <em> why </em> Brienne is handing him her clothes that Jaime nearly starts laughing.</p><p>The room has a changing screen, and while Jaime would normally pander to a woman he wanted as much as he wants Brienne, this time he’s glad for the privacy. He cleans himself up as best he can before tugging on the pants and shirt. He leaves his outfit and smallclothes in a heap behind the screen.</p><p>“They’re a bit too big,” Jaime reports when he steps out. The shoulders are a touch too broad, and the pants just <em> slightly </em> too long.</p><p>Brienne scowls, “I know I’m taller and broader than most men.”</p><p>“I was going to say that it was kind of you to lend me something,” he says. “I’ll bid you goodnight. That was <em> surely </em> enough impropriety for one evening.”</p><p>“Wait,” she blurts, “C-Can you unlace my dress before you go? Lady Margaery and her maid did it, and I can’t reach.”</p><p><em> Is she being coy? </em> Jaime wouldn’t have expected it from Brienne, but she continues to surprise. She’s hugging her arms to her chest when Jaime steps behind her.</p><p>“An unscrupulous man might see this as an invitation.” </p><p>Brienne glances over her shoulder; the vulnerability in her blue eyes is arresting. “Unscrupulous men don’t wait for invitations.”</p><p>“That’s very true, my lady.” He unties the bow at the small of her back. Unsurprisingly, there’s enough lacing that nothing budges. “You’ve quite the event to lord over me, should I displease.”</p><p>“I suppose that’s true,” she denies Jaime her lovely eyes by shutting them and turning her head. “If you annoy me <em> too </em> greatly.”</p><p><em> Teasing? </em>There’s so many facets to Brienne. She’s stubborn and bashful in turns, but Jaime wonders, again, if she harbors a wicked streak. Her unfailing kindness stands out to him, too. Jaime has never wanted to be the object of such an emotion quite so intensely.</p><p>The bodice of the dress sags as Jaime loosens the laces. Brienne clutches the fabric to her chest until the unblemished skin of her upper back is revealed. Jaime traces a line between her shoulder blades with the tip of his index finger. Brienne tenses, and it’s all he can manage not to follow the same route with his lips.</p><p>“No shift,” he muses.</p><p>“It would show.”</p><p>“I assume you don’t sleep naked,” Jaime grins.</p><p>“T-There a nightshirt amongst my things.”</p><p>Reluctant to part from her, Jaime goes and finds the requested garment. She removes one hand clutching the dress, takes the nightshirt, and dashes behind the change screen. <em> Disappointing, but understandable. </em></p><p>“If you’ll fetch my boots, I’ll leave you to retire in peace.”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t immediately answer; instead, she steps from behind the screen, still hugging her arms to her chest. The nightshirt is thin, and Jaime can see the strong outline of her legs and hips in the candlelight. He’s<em> certain </em> that if she uncrossed her arms, the shape of her breasts would be known to him.</p><p>Jaime’s mouth is suddenly drier than all the deserts in Dorne.</p><p>“Y-You may stay, ser.” Brienne’s eyes are on him, daring him to reject her offer. “If you’ve a mind to.”</p><p><em> “Gods, </em> yes,” he clenches his hands into fists in an effort to keep from crossing the distance between them and ravishing her. Instead, he sits at the head of the bed and holds out his hand, knees bent and spread. “Stop covering yourself and come here.”</p><p>She obeys, and it opens a door to a wellspring within him--something primal and possessive; something that, unchecked, might drive Brienne from his arms. Jaime is drawn to her like she’s his captor, and she is tugging on a lead. Brienne crawls to the center of the bed and lets Jaime pull her against him until she mirrors his position.</p><p>“I want to touch you.” He rests his hand, palm open, on her taut stomach, “but only if you desire me to.”</p><p>“I want you to.”</p><p>Jaime moves one hand to cup Brienne’s breast, locating her nipple easily through the sheer fabric. He rolls it between his fingers and pinches lightly. Brienne squirms, and Jaime kisses a flushed patch of skin below her ear.</p><p>“I owe you a turn.” The words are whispered. “I’ll not have you thinking I’m ungenerous.”</p><p>“I never thought you would be.”</p><p>Later, Jaime will ask where <em> that </em> impression came from. </p><p>He walks his fingers down the nightshirt until he can press the heel of his hand against Brienne’s center. The friction the barrier created worked wonders for him, and Jaime wants to test the theory on Brienne. When he runs a fingertip over her cunt, pressing inward slightly, Brienne shudders. It wracks through Jaime where they’re touching; he can already feel his cock hardening again at her back. He repeats the motion in rapid succession, pushing the fabric into her wet heat and sliding upwards to focus on the sensitive spot above her entrance. Jaime moves his other hand to her breast again. </p><p>“While we danced. I kept thinking these would fit perfect in my palm.” Even behind her flushed cheeks and wide eyes, Jaime senses Brienne’s incredulousness. She bites her lip like she’s stifling a moan, and that won’t do at all. “The louder you are, the better I’ll know how to pleasure you.”</p><p>She moans, low and unabashed; Jaime can think of no sound he wants to hear more. </p><p>‘Good, sweetling.” </p><p>At that, Brienne positively shakes in his arms. He reaches up to touch Brienne’s cheek so she’ll turn her head, and drops a kiss at the corner of her mouth. Her eyes don’t leave him. “So, <em> so </em> good. Can you show me what you like?”</p><p><em> If she knows. </em> Septa don’t tell daughters about things like finding their own pleasure. If Brienne doesn’t know, he’ll joyfully help her figure it out. Women have other methods of learning, though, and Jaime would never presume to know better. To Jaime’s <em> great </em>surprise, Brienne dislodges his hand and rucks up her nightshirt. Jaime can’t help but look down to the dampened blonde curls between Brienne’s thighs. Then, she puts her hand over his to guide him where she wants him. Jaime sinks two fingers into the slick heat of Brienne’s cunt.</p><p>“F-Faster,” she gasps, “A-and--”</p><p>Words leave Brienne, but her grip on his hand is steady, and Jaime learns the rhythm she’s asking for quickly enough. Her hips rise off the bed, and, eventually, she lets her hand fall from his and tilts her head back against his shoulder. Jaime lavishes her neck with open-mouthed kisses and caresses her breast. </p><p>“You’re <em>wonderful.” </em>A string of nonsensical praise comes forth from Jaime’s mouth. “Can you come for me?”</p><p>When Brienne’s climax hits her, she shouts and clenches around his fingers. Jaime continues stroking her lazily until she calms.</p><p><em> “Fuck.” </em>He’s never heard Brienne curse; it’s equal parts arousing and charming. She turns in Jaime’s arms and buries her head in his chest. “I-I thought it would be the same as when I’m alone.”</p><p>“I’ll take that as praise.”</p><p>Brienne touching herself sends Jaime’s imagination into a frenzy; she probably thought of Renly everytime her hand wandered between her thighs. Jaime has no claim to Brienne, in reality or in her fantasies, but the thought sends a pang of jealousy through him. Brienne is rapidly filling a space in his heart that he thought would be forever vacant. Jaime always chose lovers who drained him and offered little of themselves. The trend originated with Cersei, and Jaime never quite freed himself from the proclivity.</p><p>Curled against him, head wedged shyly under his chin, Brienne already feels different--generous and warm and a half dozen other traits Jaime’s never held in his arms. She’s also <em> young, </em> too young and idealistic to be burdened with the years of Jaime’s life and the cynicism that often plagues him. </p><p>He wants to protect that noble spirit of hers; no one <em> ever </em> did such a thing for him.</p><p>“Jaime,” she whispers into his borrowed shirt. “W-Would you stay, please?”</p><p><em> No person has ever asked such a thing of me. </em> He’d been commanded and suggested to remain by oaths and duty, but never requested. Brenne surely means until morning light, but Jaime wants it to mean more.</p><p>He holds her closer, “If my lady wishes.”</p><hr/><p>Dawn makes itself known as pale pink light coming through the window.</p><p>Brienne’s cheek is pressed against his shoulder, and Jaime is loath to move. Though two layers of clothing separates them, it’s not enough to mask the warmth emanating from her skin or the muscle of her calf where her leg became tangled with his sometime during the night. Jaime glances down to see Brienne’s pale lashes and the spray of freckles across her cheeks.</p><p>After a night of feasting and revelry, it would come as no shock that everyone wasn’t in their correct beds at dawn. It was one matter, however, for a serving girl or three to stumble out of King Robert’s bedchamber wearing last night’s clothes than for Jaime to waltz out of the room of a highborn maiden.</p><p>Not that such an act wasn’t happening elsewhere--it was just more discreet. Robert could carry on with impunity; he could fuck a whore while Cersei slept down the hall, and no one would <em> dare </em> chastise him.</p><p>Brienne’s position at Highgarden and among Renly’s men was complicated, and Jaime didn’t mean to make it moreso. He’d been tipsy with mead and the fact that he wanted to kiss Brienne again when he led her out of the hall. People <em> definitely </em> noticed them dancing and their exit.</p><p>“Brienne.” His arm under her feels like pins and needles. He reaches across her with the other and shakes Brienne gently until her eyes flutter open.</p><p><em> Lovely. </em> She looks soft and unguarded and Jaime’s heart seizes painfully in his chest. </p><p>Eventually, Brienne whispers, “Good morning.”</p><p>“The light’s a bit bright, but I’ve been much worse.” The ache in Jaime’s head is dull enough that he hopes food and water will fix it.</p><p>“You overindulged.”</p><p>Jaime’s chuckle vibrates through both of them, “In many ways, apparently.”</p><p>Brienne turns her face into his chest, certainly to hide her blush. “Should you go?”</p><p>Reluctant, Jaime replies, “Before too many people wake, yes.”</p><p>“Y-You can keep the clothes.”</p><p>“I’d be quite a shock wandering naked through the halls.”</p><p>Prying himself out of her arms and her bed is quite the labor, and it tests his constitution. When he’s standing, Jaime leans down and kisses the top of Brienne’s head.</p><p>“It’s much too early to be roused, but I’d like to do a different kind of dance with you at a more respectable hour.”</p><p>Brienne’s expression brightens; it lights the room better than the sun. “You wish to spar?”</p><p>“Do you think you could procure some tourney blades?”</p><p>“Do I not merit real steel?” Even in her nightdress clutching the linens, Brienne’s expression is all challenge. </p><p>Jaime thinks of Brightroar and decides to show her sometime soon. “It’ll be hard to kiss you if I’m worried about gutting you.”</p><p>“...I’ll find some.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Jaime and Brienne have a sword fight, and Olenna begins meddling in earnest.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Brienne IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Brienne stays abed for an indulgent amount of time after Jaime leaves. The pillow smells like him, and the sheets are still warm. Part of her wants to press her face into the pillow and scream.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you, as always, for all the amazing comments from last week! I'm glad everyone is enjoying Brienne being a bit more confident about what she wants.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Brienne stays abed for an indulgent amount of time after Jaime leaves. The pillow smells like him, and the sheets are still warm. Part of her wants to press her face into the pillow and scream.</p><p>Instead, she dresses and sets out on the task Jaime gave her.</p><p>The walk to the tourney field takes her through Renly’s camp. It’s still early enough that most people are still in their tents. Brienne isn’t trying to sneak, but she isn’t keen on seeing any of her would-be suitors. Highgarden certainly has a proper armory, but she doesn’t know the location. She makes it most of the way to the tent that’s being used as a makeshift one before Hyle Hunt’s smirking face bars her path. </p><p>“Lady Brienne, how nice of you to visit us now that you’ve moved into the castle with the lords and ladies.”</p><p>“I don’t want to talk to you,” Brienne crosses her arms, “Unless you’d like for me to beat you again.”</p><p>Hyle laughs, ”I’m still nursing the injuries from the last bout.”</p><p><em> Good. </em> She holds her tongue. “Is that all?”</p><p>“You’ve decided the Kingslayer is better company.”</p><p>She tries not to sound too defensive, “I-I didn’t <em> decide </em> anything.” </p><p>“Have you heard some of the rumors about him?”</p><p>Brienne feels like she won’t like or believe what Hyle is about to say. “I’ve heard the same stories everyone has about the Mad King.”</p><p>“I’m talking about the more absurd ones--like that he slayed two dozen Dothraki with a Valyrian steel sword, or that he fucked <em> every </em>pleasure slave in a pillow house in Lys.”</p><p>“...Those <em> can’t </em> be true.” The second rumor heats her face. Jaime certainly attracted people wherever he went, but Brienne knows a tale when she hears one. “Where did you even <em> hear </em> such nonsense?”</p><p>“Around,” Hyle shrugs, “They’re probably not true, but how much do you <em> really </em> know about him?”</p><p><em> Not enough, </em> Brienne decides. <em> I’ll have to fix that. </em></p><hr/><p>“I thought you’d want an audience for our duel, wench.”</p><p>Brienne sighs, perhaps a bit too heavily, and picks up the blunted tourney sword she borrowed. The weight and balance of it feel different than her own, but it shouldn’t be enough to be considered a disadvantage. </p><p>“I was doing you a courtesy, ser,” she replies with a bravado that’s entirely an affectation, “So the men in the yard won’t see you bested by a woman.”</p><p>Jaime laughs, but it’s more of a whoop, “That’s more courtesy than you gave the men in the tourney.”</p><p>“That’s...different,” her eyebrows come together in a scowl.</p><p>“Is that a courtesy reserved for those you kiss?” </p><p>Jaime’s grin is entirely too charming for it’s own good. Brienne’s heart starts to race, and she’s losing the upper hand before they even begin. The stupid rumor Hyle mentioned bounces around in her head; Jaime really <em> is </em>an enigma. </p><p>
  <em> This is one way to acquaint myself. </em>
</p><p>She holds the tourney sword before her. “Draw your blade, ser.’</p><p>“I see you’ve had enough of talking.”</p><p>That’s not <em> exactly </em> right, but Brienne isn’t sure her spirit can weather Jaime discussing kissing so openly. The events from the night prior make her want to run screaming, and that’s just her <em> thinking </em> about them.</p><p>The tales of Jaime’s skill with a blade aren’t exaggerated. Even with their subpar tourney weapons, he flies at her with such speed that Brienne barely has time to raise her blade to block. From there, Brienne's movements are driven by instinct, dodging and parrying Jaime’s strikes. She feels like she catches each of them with only a hair's breadth to spare.</p><p>Jaime doesn’t underestimate her, and that eliminates one of her best advantages. <em>He’ll tire. I just need to wait.</em> They circle one another for what feels like an age. Jaime has years on her, and if she can just <em>outlast</em> him, perhaps there will be an opportunity to disarm him. </p><p>It’s not to be, though--Jaime is far swifter than she is, and Brienne ends up with his sword pressed against her throat. Both of them are breathing hard. She feels a bead of sweat run down the back of her neck and wishes she’d plaited her hair. Jaime looks irritatingly fresh.</p><p>“Do you yield?”</p><p>Brienne grumbles and drops her sword into the grass. It’s not how she’d treat her own longsword. “Do I have much of a choice?”</p><p>His grin is <em> insufferable. </em> “No, but it would be gratifying to hear you say it.”</p><p>“Fine, <em> ser, </em> I yield.”</p><p>Jaime casts his own blade aside and steps into her space so they’re nearly pressed flush together. <em> Why does he smell so good? </em> His eyes are alight with mischief and the high of a match well fought. </p><p>He brings his hand up to cradle the back of Brienne’s head, tangling in her sweaty, lank hair. “You fight well, sweetling.”</p><p>The endearment makes Brienne’s heart speed to a gallop, but it also irritates her. “Just because we k-kissed, and--I don’t need to be patronized.”</p><p>“Who’s patronizing you? I asked you to fight because I think you’ve skill.”</p><p>Almost traitorously, Brienne wants his commendation. <em>Is that what happens when someone like Jaime Lannister kisses you? </em>She proved herself in the melee and wanted him to see. Even though their bout ended in her defeat, she desires his praise. </p><p>“I-I never cared for or expected any man’s praise.”</p><p>Jaime raises a brow, “Not even Renly Baratheon’s?”</p><p>Brienne swallows hard and tries to compose herself; Jaime is <em> too close. </em> “Renly would never notice--”</p><p>“--A woman?”</p><p>
  <em> “...Me.” </em>
</p><p>“But you want <em> my </em> attention <em> .” </em> Jaime tightens his grip. The amount of innuendo in the last word and his rakish grin make Brienne feel like she’s forgotten how to stand. Her pride won’t allow her to admit what she wants.</p><p>“I want to be respected,” she shuts her eyes to block his radiance, “and not treated like a...like a <em> novelty.” </em></p><p>“You’re good. Being bested by me doesn’t make that not the case.” Now, Jaime sounds earnest and affable, all traces of innuendo blown away. “I didn’t ask to fight you on a lark or to show you your place.”</p><p>“What if...what if I won?” <em> What about your pride? </em> No man wanted to be bested by a woman, especially a woman who wasn’t beautiful. </p><p>A kiss isn’t the answer Brienne expects. Jaime slides his hand from her hair and brings the other to meet at the back of her neck, pulling Brienne as close as possible with her arms pinned between them. The kiss carries on until Brienne’s pride <em> and </em> her insecurity are chased away by Jaime’s lips. Her hands dig into the fabric of his jerkin, and the ground tilts pleasantly. <em> This could become a problem. </em> </p><p>Somehow, Brienne can’t find the will to care.</p><p>After, Jaime smiles and says, “I’d congratulate you.”</p><p>“You wouldn’t feel slighted?”</p><p>“Only if you won’t kiss me.”</p><hr/><p>Brienne never bests Jaime.</p><p>Three matches turns into a half dozen; after that, Brienne ceases counting them. It’s a better use of her concentration to learn Jaime’s tells. He’s elegant in his movements, almost cat-like, and there’s an artfulness to his swordplay that Brienne’s own lacks. Even the blunted tourney blade moves with the grace of Valyrian steel in his hand.</p><p>
  <em> He’s as good as the stories say. </em>
</p><p>Sometime near their tenth bout, Jaime places his blade down and flops onto his stomach in the grass. <em> “I </em> yield, wench. Seven hells, can you go <em> forever?” </em></p><p>“I--” Brienne can’t tell if that’s a compliment, so she sits down beside him. “I feel a <em> bit </em> winded, I suppose.”</p><p>“You would beat a man just by wearing him down.”</p><p>“I know, ser.”</p><p>Jaime’s laugh echoes in the open field where they’d been sparring. Highgarden isn’t too far in the distance. He’d thrown his jerkin aside after the third or fourth match, citing the heat. His shirt is damp with sweat and stretches across the muscles of his back in a way that makes Brienne’s mouth dry and her hands itch.</p><p>“I’ve gotten to know you in <em> two </em> respects,” Jaime folds his arms and rests his cheek against them so he can look at her. “Let’s try a third.”</p><p>“....Um.”</p><p><em> “Talking, </em> my lady. What wanton thoughts were <em> you </em> having?”</p><p>Brienne leans back on her hands and, for her own sanity, averts her gaze. “I was thinking that you’re vexing. What...do you want to know?”</p><p>“What has Renly Baratheon done to earn your love?”</p><p>“He visited Tarth, and we held a feast for him.” Brienne hesitates. <em> He’ll think me a foolish girl if I continue. </em>Jaime’s gaze is expectant, so she musters the words. “He danced with me.”</p><p>“You were wooed by a dance? If so, I should send a raven to your father and ask for--”</p><p>
  <em> “Stop.” </em>
</p><p>“My apologies,” his tone softens to the one he used in her bed; Brienne is already weak to it. “You find Renly Baratheon appealing?”</p><p>“I-I <em> did.” </em></p><p>“Ah, <em> past </em> tense,” Jaime clicks his tongue, “Would you like my opinion?”</p><p>Brienne tilts her head like seeing Jaime from an angle will make her less confused. <em> “Your </em> opinion on Renly Baratheon?”</p><p>“Certainly.” Jaime rolls onto his side and props himself up with one arm. There’s a few blades of grass stuck to his shirt. “Think of it like gossip amongst ladies.”</p><p>“Am I to imagine you in a sewing circle, chittering and taking tea?” Brienne can see Jaime comfortable in such a space better than she can imagine herself.</p><p>“Renly Baratheon <em> is </em> handsome. I can see why a maiden would fall to his charms.”</p><p>“Are you <em> mocking </em> me?”</p><p>“Not in the slightest,” he answers, “He looks too akin to Robert in his youth, which makes me want to punch him, but apart from that.”</p><p><em> “Why </em> are we discussing this?”</p><p>“Brienne, the wind whistles through Renly’s ears. He’s terribly vain. Even if he <em> were </em> interested in what’s between your thighs, he’d spend the entire event talking about himself--some bullshit hunting trophy or his <em> clothes.” </em></p><p>“I-I never thought he’d <em> actually </em> consider me, but I was able to pretend, for a moment.” A wave of shame crashes over Brienne; she thinks Jaime means well, but she just feels foolish. “...You wouldn’t understand.”</p><p>“You think me beyond wanting someone who doesn’t want me back?”</p><p><em> “Who </em> would refuse you?” Brienne blurts, and hates herself immediately. <em> Not you, </em> she expects Jaime to answer. She doesn’t <em> want </em> to believe it, but a wary part of her still thinks Jaime is mocking her even though he’s given no evidence.</p><p>“When I was young--younger even than you, I loved a girl.” Jaime’s expression turns steely, which is not what Brienne expects from a story about an old love. “She told me we were made to be together, and even apart, I clung to that. It felt...hopeful, at moments where I needed bolstering. There were many such moments.”</p><p>Brienne imagines some tragedy; perhaps she was betrothed to another or died. “What became of her?”</p><p>Jaime starts laughing bitterly, “I asked her to marry me and run away. She called me a fool and told me we could be lovers in secret, and that perhaps if I stayed seated on the Iron Throne after I killed the Mad King, it could’ve been different.”</p><p>More questions spring into her mind, but all of them feel too personal. “I’m sorry,” she says instead.</p><p>“It’s fine,” Jaime replies, “by all accounts, it would’ve been a <em> disaster. </em>If I’m to be lonely and unhappy, I should at least have my freedom.”</p><p>Jaime brands Renly flippant and vain, but she’s heard those same adjectives leveled at him as well. The man before her, the one who handed her his favor and touched her the night before, doesn’t seem like that.</p><p>“I thought if I pledged my sword to Renly, he might...he might need me, and that would suffice. I didn’t need him to love me.” Brienne closes her eyes, “I’ve been clinging to that since I left Tarth.”</p><p>“I’ve spent a lot of time talking to my horse over the last few years, and I came to a conclusion. I think it might suit you, too.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Brienne,” Jaime reaches out and puts his hand over hers, “That’s a pale shade of what you deserve.”</p><hr/><p>Margaery and Jaime are beautiful, so they make a fine pair on the dance floor. </p><p>Both of them are smiling and laughing, but the distance and the swell of the music means that Brienne can’t make out what they’re saying. Brienne watches them from her seat for a moment, transfixed by the gossamer lavender of Margaery’s skirt as they glide around.</p><p>
  <em> We certainly didn’t make that fine of a picture last night.  </em>
</p><p>People stared, but for an entirely different reason. Brienne decided wearing her nicest set of clothes was better than being seen in the same dress two evenings in a row. Besides, memories of what transpired when she had the dress on made her face burst into flames alone in her chamber. If she had worn it, she'd probably catch fire when Jaime grinned at her during dinner.</p><p>Brienne doesn’t like being the center of attention, so sipping mead at her chair is fine. She’s not alone, either--Lady Olenna and Willas Tyrell are at the table with her. The second night of feasting must’ve been the peak in the revelry because the air in the ballroom is much more subdued.</p><p>“Everyone got too deep in their cups last night and decided to exercise some restraint,” Willas says as he nurses his goblet with an uncommon slowness. Brienne remembers hearing that the oldest Tyrell son was injured in a tourney as a youth. It explains why she hasn’t seen him dance.</p><p>“Forced restraint,” Olenna gestures with her goblet; her fingers look too frail to hold the thing aloft. “Largely caused by regret.”</p><p>“Three of your four grandchildren are dancing,” Willas replies, “so I suppose we’re hearty stock.”</p><p>Olenna laughs, but Brienne isn’t sure if there’s any humor in it. Margaery and Renly’s empty chairs are between them, so she sits in comfortable silence. Like the night before, Jaime calling Renly vain and self-absorbed echoed through Brienne’s mind all through dinner. She felt a bit like the scales had been pulled back from her eyes. Renly spoke only of himself and looked disinterested when others were speaking.</p><p>Brienne never noticed that quality, or maybe she’d never been close enough to see it. Now that she’s witnessed it, she doesn’t like it. Jaime’s attentive gazes, and even his japes and jibes were such a contrast.</p><p>“Girl,” Lady Olenna calls out; it takes a repetition for Brienne to realize the <em> girl </em> is her. When she looks, a withered hand is patting the empty place next to her. “Come here; I want to have words.”</p><p>Like so many times, refusing would be rude, so Brienne goes.</p><p>Olenna looks Brienne up and down with swift appraisal, “Men’s clothes tonight, Lady Brienne?”</p><p>“I-I’ve only the gown Lady Margaery leant me, and it seemed unfashionable to wear it twice,” Brienne answers. <em> As though what’s fashionable matters to me. </em></p><p>“I suppose gowns aren’t needed in Lord Renly’s army.”</p><p>“No, my lady.”</p><p>Olenna narrows her eyes and scrutinizes the dance floor. Brienne can’t tell which pair is the focus of her gaze until she speaks. “Margaery and Jaime make a fine pair.”</p><p>“They’re both lovely,” Brienne answers honestly. Looking at them hurts a bit, but it doesn’t feel like jealousy. “Jaime is a fine dancer.”</p><p>“I don’t mean appearances, girl,” Olenna snaps, “I wanted Jaime to marry her, but Mace planned the match with Renly while Jaime was off doing Seven-knows-what.”</p><p>Brienne remembers the rumors she heard about Jaime this morning, and the little he’s told her of his travels. She also thinks of Jaime's assessment of Renly from that afternoon. “Lord Renly will be an honorable lord husband to her.”</p><p>Vanity aside, <em> that </em> much is true.</p><p>Olenna scoffs, <em>“Honorable. </em>That might as well be what comes out of a horse’s ass. Margaery deserved an equal, and Jaime needed someone to pin him down. Tywin wanted his son matched with one of my grandchildren when he sent the boy here. I suppose his disappointment is the only boon.”</p><p>“Would Ser Jaime have...wanted to marry Lady Margaery?”</p><p>“He said she’s too young and too like a sister,” Olenna replies, “I told him age didn’t matter a whit, but Jaime is principled and, like all men, stubborn as an ox.”</p><p>Brienne tries to hide her smile, “I suppose he is those things.”</p><p>“Regardless, I didn’t wave you over to lament what can’t be changed. Let me get to know you.”</p><p>“Um,” Brienne stumbles, “there’s little to tell.”</p><p>“I’ll decide what’s important, girl. Start from the beginning.”</p><p>She hesitates at first, but as the words tumble out of her, Brienne feels her strength grow. She tells Olenna of Ser Goodwin and her failed betrothals, or her father sending a raven to Storm’s End asking if Renly would welcome a girl with a sword. She tells Olenna of the journey from Storm’s End, but leaves out Randyll Tarly’s words or the bet. When the story is done, the music is still playing, but Margaery is dancing with Loras now. Jaime is standing with a drink in his hand conversing with Mace. He smiles, but it’s tight and doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s a little frightening that Brienne can already tell.</p><p>Brienne feels wrung out when she’s through. Then, she realizes that not once during the story did Olenna scold her or express displeasure--not a <em> single </em> utterance about what a highborn girl should or shouldn’t do.</p><p>Olenna looks at her and says, “You’re plucky.”</p><p>“Plucky?” She sounds like a parrot from Essos she saw as a girl; the bird would repeat whatever the ship captain said. It always made Brienne laugh.</p><p>“Women are always at war, but we haven’t the same weapons as men.” Olenna takes her hand, and Brienne is afraid she’ll crush the frail bones if she squeezes at all. “We’re passed around by our fathers like chattel. We’re expected to be virtuous, but play coy at the right moment. If we’re <em> too </em> coy, we’re deemed a harlot. It’s a fight a man can’t understand.”</p><p>“A woman’s war.”</p><p><em> “Precisely. </em>I taught Margaery how to protect herself, and you should know how to do so, too. It’s unfair, but few will do it for you.”</p><p>No one has ever said it to her that way, but Brienne feels the words as a yoke on her shoulders. Then, she feels almost impossibly tired and sad. “I...I’m too much or not enough. I’m not fit to be a lady, and I don’t want to be mocked. I thought I’d be a knight, at least in deed. My father let me go, but sometimes I think he wants the world to teach me a lesson.”</p><p>Olenna’s lips curl into a smirk, “Well, have you learned the lesson?”</p><p>“I won’t sail home to Tarth in defeat,” Brienne replies, “They can call me Brienne the Beauty and threaten to rape me and <em> make bets </em>about me. I want to protect people that can’t protect themselves.”</p><p>“See,” Olenna pats her hand, <em> “plucky. </em>You fight on two fronts. There’s power to be found in that, but it must be tiring.”</p><p>“I--” <em> Is it weakness to admit it? </em> “It is.”</p><p>“Telling you to marry would make me a hypocrite in most cases, but allying yourself with the right man can have certain advantages.” Olenna takes her eyes off Brienne, and Brienne’s stomach drops because she just <em> knows, </em>somehow, that Olenna is looking at--</p><p>
  <em> Jaime. </em>
</p><p>Who chooses that <em> exact </em> moment to throw his head back and laugh just loud enough that it carries. He’s so handsome that it nearly causes Brienne physical anguish; her heart feels like wrung out like laundry put to dry. There’s sunshine, too, because his hair catches the lamplight, and it’s so dazzling she sees spots.</p><p>Olenna sees her gawking and starts laughing. “I didn’t see this end; perhaps it’s better he didn’t marry Margaery. <em> You </em> might be more suited.”</p><p>“S-Suited?”</p><p>“The foolish boy wants <em> love,” </em> Olenna rolls her eyes, but there’s fondness in her voice. “It’s at his very core, and no prudent advice I ever bestowed changed that. Jaime won’t ask you to be someone you aren’t; I raised him better.”</p><p>Before Brienne can respond, Olenna shouts Jaime’s name; he looks up, abandons his conversation, and comes over to the table.</p><p>“Oh, <em> gods, </em>the two of you are talking. What embarrassing stories has Olenna regaled you with?”</p><p>“Just that you’re flighty and need a good woman to finally pin you down,” Olenna answers, “Now, don’t spend your evening annoying me.”</p><p>Brienne’s cheeks burn, but it’s not so embarrassing, because she <em> swears </em> Jaime’s are, too.</p><p>“I’ve had my fill of dance and drink,” he whispers, “but not of your company.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Brienne holds Brightroar <i>(not</i> a euphemism), and Jaime talks about Aerys and gets real deep in his feelings.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Jaime V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I don’t wish to be the foolish maiden you trick.”</p>
<p>“No tricks.”</p>
<p>“Is this…” she bites her lip, and it takes all Jaime’s willpower not to pull her down. “Is this why you invited me to breakfast?”</p>
<p>“Partially. There’s also a sword I thought you might enjoy--and <i>no,</i> that’s not a euphemism.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I loved reading all your comments from last week! Thank you so much; the response to this fic has been more than I could've ever imagined.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t what Jaime desired, but after walking with Brienne around the moonlit gardens, he escorted her back to her chambers and bid her good night. They’d kissed in the darkened hallway, but Jaime didn’t ask to come in, and Brienne didn’t offer. He tried to read her expression and found that he didn’t yet know her well enough to divine it. </p>
<p>Perhaps she’d have let him in again, or perhaps she thought they’d gone too far the night before. Jaime only knew that his steps were heavy as he made his way back to his boyhood bedroom. He tossed and turned for what felt like an age trying to decide how to best reach Brienne.</p>
<p>They’d already broken every boundary of propriety, and Jaime certainly didn’t want to employ any tactics that were used to mock her. She wouldn’t want trinkets, songs, or superficial gestures of affection. </p>
<p>
  <em> What does Brienne value? </em>
</p>
<p>Honesty. Sincerity. Honor.<em> Things I’ve forgotten the importance of. </em> Brienne made him want to explain himself--something he gave up on when he threw the white cloak of the Kingsguard to the floor. Robert and Ned heard his reasoning, but they hadn’t <em> listened. </em> Jaime was still an oathbreaker, and Robert didn’t care <em> why </em> Jaime had slain Aerys. </p>
<p>
  <em> Would Brienne understand?  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Brienne,” Jaime drags his spoon through his porridge and watches the mass of it return to the center of his bowl. “If I ask you a question, can you promise me an honest answer?”</p>
<p>She studies him a moment before answering, “I will be as honest as I’m able, ser.”</p>
<p>The answer feels <em> so </em> aligned with her character that Jaime’s smiling before he realizes. “Before we were acquainted, what did you think of me?”</p>
<p>Her brows crease; Jaime waits. </p>
<p>“I heard stories, as a girl, about the death of the Mad King. Different bards and singers told it different ways--some said that you sacrificed your honor to protect the people of King’s Landing. Others simply named you an oathbreaker.”</p>
<p>“What did <em> you </em> think?”</p>
<p>“I-I don’t know,” Brienne admits, “I used to try and decide, but never could. I didn’t expect you to be...as you are.<em> ” </em></p>
<p>“I’ve this <em> terrible </em>habit of leaning into the most negative impression of me.” Jaime doesn’t try and keep the bitterness from his tone. “People assume a thing, and I never corrected them because people’s minds aren’t swayed.”</p>
<p>“It’s true.” Brienne’s eyes are downcast, “I thought I could prove myself. Victory felt good, but they only think of me as more freakish now. What <em> woman </em> can win a melee?”</p>
<p>“You, obviously,” Jaime sighs and takes a bite of food, “I’d advise you not to care, but it’s not so easy. I ran and tried to convince myself I could live without anyone’s approval, but I find that I very much desire <em> yours.” </em></p>
<p>“W-Why?”</p>
<p>“Because you’re honorable. I want you to know the truth from my lips and hear your judgement.”</p>
<p>“I’m in no position to judge you, ser.”</p>
<p><em> Someone must. </em> “Just...will you listen?”</p>
<p>Brienne nods. </p>
<p>Once Jaime starts talking, parts of his heart, dammed up for so long, spill forth and flood over. Long ago, he tried to explain himself to Cersei, but she snubbed his explanations and called him a fool. Jaime thought the words would need pried from deep in his soul, but they tumble out of him easily. He tells Brienne of standing silent while people burned, of seeking shelter in his own mind, of Aerys’s final act of destruction that he couldn’t abide, and of failing to protect Elia and her children. He tells her of Ned Stark’s scorn and why he decided to escape all of it.</p>
<p>“Robert is a philandering buffoon, but he isn’t mad,” Jaime closes his eyes, “Even so, I couldn’t serve him blindly. I’ve never gotten back to the boy who wanted to be like Arthur Dayne.”</p>
<p>When Jaime opens his eyes, Brienne is beside his chair, looking down at him. <em> Her eyes. </em> Beautiful, and expressive, and <em> caring-- </em>her gaze feels like an embrace.</p>
<p>“You were barely more than a boy,” she whispers. </p>
<p>“I was a man grown,” Jaime almost snaps, “If you don’t need patronizing, then neither do I.”</p>
<p>“I’m not.” Brienne takes his face between her hands. “When other people tell the tale, it’s much easier to come to a judgment. I-I was guilty, as a girl, of being swayed by whomever was the storyteller. I asked my father why you swore to serve a cruel king.”</p>
<p>“To spite my father. I’d been away so long I didn’t want Casterly Rock.” <em> My sister rejected me. </em> Brienne’s hands are warm and steadying. “Arthur Dayne was a Kingsguard; it seemed like a good act of rebellion and a position of honor.”</p>
<p>Brienne smiles, “I understand, a little, rebellion. My father <em> surely </em> expected me to sail home by now.”</p>
<p>“Stubborn wench; I like that about you.”</p>
<p>“You’re surely the only one.”</p>
<p>The blush on her cheeks nearly provokes Jaime to pull Brienne into his lap. Instead, Jaime takes her hands from his face and clasps them between his. “You deserve praise heaped upon you, but I don’t think I’d enjoy sharing you.”</p>
<p>Brenne rolls her eyes, “Things aren’t easily answered like in songs. I’ve learned <em> some </em> things since leaving Tarth. I-I think you made a difficult choice that saved many lives, and I wish you hadn’t suffered for it.”</p>
<p>“That’s--” Jaime feels a <em> very </em> suspicious burning behind his eyes and presses his forehead against Brienne’s stomach to hide it. She pulls one hand from his and touches his hair. <em> Surely, no one has done that since Mother died. </em> The gentleness is more than Jaime deserves. Their acquaintance has spanned only a sennight, but Brienne should know that she’s already worked her way into his heart.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how to say that, so Jaime blurts, “I don’t chase skirts.”</p>
<p>“Excuse me?”</p>
<p>“There’s rumors,” Jaime mumbles, “that I’m a--I don’t know--a <em> prolific </em> lover, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“...Like the one about the pillow house in Lys?”</p>
<p><em> “Yes. </em> That’s a personal favorite of mine because it’s outlandish. I’d dare Robert fucking Baratheon to work his way through an <em> entire--” </em>He shakes his head. “Anyway, it’s bullshit.”</p>
<p>“Jaime, you don’t owe me--”</p>
<p>“I’ve never paid to fuck someone, and I’ve never knowingly taken a lover who belonged to someone else.” He raises his head to look Brienne in the eyes; the blue of them drowns him all over again. “There haven't been many; you could count them on one hand.”</p>
<p>Brienne’s cheeks are still red, but she gives him the barest hint of a smile; it feels like a victory. “I don’t wish to be the foolish maiden you trick.”</p>
<p>“No tricks.”</p>
<p>“Is this…” she bites her lip, and it takes all Jaime’s willpower not to pull her down. “Is this why you invited me to breakfast?”</p>
<p>“Partially. There’s also a sword I thought you might enjoy--and <em> no, </em> that’s <em> not </em> a euphemism.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>When Jaime was a boy, his father’s youngest brother, Gerion, was always his favorite uncle. </p>
<p>Tywin seemed to <em> hate </em> him, and Aunt Genna whispered once in Jaime’s ear that his father’s ire stemmed from the fact that Gerion was too flippant and boisterous. Gerion reminded Tywin of his own father, Tytos Lannister, and that was something he couldn’t abide. Tywin’s purpose was to restore the Lannister name to glory, and he had a role for everyone to play that suited his aim.</p>
<p>Uncle Gerion didn't play his role very well, but there was <em> one </em> pursuit where his interests aligned with Tywin’s--house Lannister’s continued lack of a Valyrian steel sword.</p>
<p>Jaime remembers, vaguely, his father attempts to secure one from lesser houses in Westeros, whether by money of intimidation. Tywin had no success, and Jaime assumed the same continued to be true. Gerion’s designs were more grand--sail to Old Valyria and reclaim Brightroar, lost by their ancestor Tommen Lannister after the Doom.</p>
<p>It was an impossible task. In the end, Gerion’s crew abandoned him in Volantis, and he’d been forced to hire slaves to man his ship. Jaime was fortuitous enough to track a few of Gerion’s original crew in Volantis, and all spoke of how he’d gone mad in the pursuit of Brightroar.</p>
<p>Gerion was never heard from again, lost in the Smoking Sea, but that didn’t mean Brightroar was lost forever, too. Jaime likes to imagine his father’s expression should he ever learn that Brightroar, after being lost for an age, found Jaime--the Lannister who cared the least about the family name or glory.</p>
<p>In fact, Jaime just <em> happened </em> across the sword.</p>
<p>Volantis was the oldest of the Free Cities. The two halves of the city sit on either side of the Rhoyne River, connected by the Long Bridge. The bridge was massive, held aloft by stone piers built by the Valyrians during the height of their glory. Shops lined both sides of the bridge, and, in them, one could buy almost anything imaginable.</p>
<p>A Valyrian steel sword was not, in Jaime’s mind at least, anything imaginable.</p>
<p>Jaime had no reason to step through the shop’s doorway that day. He did so on a lark, thinking it would help him escape the heat. He hadn’t yet learned that <em> nothing </em>helped the heat in Volantis.  All of Essos was hot, but Volantis felt the most oppressively humid. Only the streets nearest the Summer Sea benefitted from the breeze; the rest of the city shimmered from the heat, giving it a dreamy quality. Half the time, Jaime felt like he was going to expire on the street.</p>
<p>Inside, the shop was dimly lit, and the air was thick with incense. The merchandise was an odd assortment of trinkets--items the shopkeeper bought or traded and thought he could turn a profit on. Most of it looked like rubbish to Jaime, ancient or broken or for an unknown purpose. Except for the sword at the back of the shop, mounted high upon the wall, which drew his eye. He had no need of another sword, but the rubies glinted in the dim light, and Jaime found himself drawn to it.</p>
<p>“The sword,” he turned to the man behind the small counter and gestured to the wall, “May I see it?”</p>
<p>The man behind the counter was so stooped with age that Jaime thought he <em> surely </em> must be seated on a stool. There was something about his toothless grin and raisin wrinkled skin that reminded Jaime of Olenna and the fact that he hadn’t been home in far too long.</p>
<p>Jaime’s High Valyrian was limited to insults and ordering food, and it got even worse when the different dialects spoken across the Free Cities were tossed in the mix. The man babbled something, but Jaime understood none of it. The shopkeeper's speech was so garbled it sounded as though his mouth was full of marbles, and Jaime wondered if even someone born speaking High Valyrian could understand him.</p>
<p>Used to resorting to vague hand gestures, he pointed at the sword a second time.</p>
<p>The man’s second attempt was just as unintelligible, but he made a sweeping gesture with his hands. Jaime decided to retrieve the sword himself; there’s no way the shopkeeper could reach it. The heft of the blade is more than Jaime’s used to. Up close, the rubies are coated in dust, as is the scabbard. </p>
<p><em> No one has touched this in a long time. </em> Jaime turned his back to the shopkeeper and pulled the sword loose-- just enough to see the blade. He was so shocked he nearly dropped the sword on the ground. Black and red rippled steel. Jaime took a deep breath and returned the blade to the scabbard. The engraving on the pommel was worn and covered in grime, but the vague outline of a lion was visible.</p>
<p><em> Crone’s tits, </em> Jaime thought, <em> that can’t be possible. </em> Jaime had never <em> seen </em> the sword, of course, but Valyrian steel was rare. When he eliminated all the blades it <em> couldn’t </em>be, he was left with an impossibility.</p>
<p>“How...did you come by this sword?” There was little hope of being understood, but Jaime had to try.</p>
<p>The shopkeeper shrugged, then started talking much too quickly. Jaime was fairly certain he heard the High Valyrian word for <em> pirate. </em>He was trying to piece together any other errant words when a much younger man emerged from a door near the back of the shop. He had the same coloring and nose as the elderly man, so Jaime assumed he was a grandson.</p>
<p>“He says that blade’s been on the wall since <em> he </em> was a boy. No one’s taken an interest in it.” The younger man spoke the common tongue but thickly accented. </p>
<p>Jaime nearly blurted <em> are you fucking kidding? </em>Instead, he arranged his features into a mask of ambivalence that Tywin might approve of. “Do you know how the sword got here?”</p>
<p>The man shrugged, “Things come and go all the time. Grandfather said a pirate from Westeros sold it to charter a ship to take him back across the Narrow Sea, but that was decades ago.”</p>
<p><em> Seven hells, was it </em> here <em> the entire time? </em> Uncle Gerion’s voyage, his father’s obsession with family glory--the source of it had been gathering dust on some wall in Volantis while they tore themselves apart. Jaime <em> almost </em> fucking laughs.</p>
<p>“How much do you want for it?”</p>
<p>The two converse in High Valyrian, and Jaime waits. If neither of them have ever unsheathed it, Jaime was going to get the deal of his life.</p>
<p>“Enough for the rubies,” the younger man said.</p>
<p>Jaime’s coffers aren’t endless, but between mercenary work, odd guarding jobs, and Olenna’s occasional, unsolicited help, he doesn’t want for coin. They decide on a sum that nearly empties Jaime’s purse, but when the money is exchanged, Jaime flees in case they realize the <em> monumental </em> error they've made.</p>
<p>It’s not until Jaime returned to his room at the inn and bolted the door that he pulled the sword free and inspected it. It’s beautiful, priceless beyond measure, and he didn’t need it <em> at all. </em> Fuck, he didn’t even <em> want </em>it. As fine a blade as it was, it was too steeped in a history he didn’t want to claim.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, the thought of his father learning that Jaime, of all the Lannisters, found Brightroar when he wasn’t looking, made him sit on the edge of the bed and laugh until there were tears in his eyes.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Brienne’s face is alight with childish wonder as Jaime pulls Brightroar from its scabbard. </p>
<p>“That’s Valyrian steel,” she whispers.</p>
<p>They’re standing on the balcony off Jaime’s chamber; the space is open save for a small table and a chaise that makes Jaime want to take an afternoon nap in the sun, like a cat might.</p>
<p>“It is.”</p>
<p>“And you really just...<em> bought </em> it. They didn’t even realize?”</p>
<p>“I couldn’t make that story up as a jest if I wanted to. Here,” Jaime extends his arm to offer Brienne the hilt. The rubies adorning it catch the late morning sun. “Hold it.”</p>
<p>Her expression shifts, a disbelieving crease between her brows, “I-I couldn’t, ser. A sword such as that isn’t for someone like me.”</p>
<p>“Because you’re a woman?” Jaime’s tone is clipped.</p>
<p>“It belongs to your family,” Brienne replies, “a true knight should wield it, not a girl who’s just pretending.”</p>
<p>Brienne’s assessment of herself makes Jaime angry. <em> If only all knights were so humble. </em> Seven hells, <em> he </em> isn’t that humble. The blade is heavy in his grip.</p>
<p>“Your <em> pretending </em> is worth more than a dozen hedge knights’ attempts at glory. Please, I <em> insist.” </em></p>
<p>Jaime never felt quite right holding Brightroar. It’s heavy with the legacy of house Lannsister, and he feels disconnected from it. He keeps using it, though, if only for the humorous story of how he acquired it and the fact that his father, if he even knows Jaime has it, would <em> kill </em> to get it. </p>
<p>Brienne’s movements are so tentative that Jaime wants to close the gap between their hands. Instead, he waits until Brienne’s hand covers his own. Her grip on the blade is powerful; it confirms that Jaime thought already--that Brienne might be a finer wielder of Brightroar than he is. </p>
<p>Jaime quite enjoys the feeling of her hand covering his, but he extracts his fingers and lets Brienne take the sword. Her other hand comes to the hilt and she adjusts her grip. The minute she’s comfortable, the unease on her face becomes a determined expression that borders on a scowl.</p>
<p>It’s the expression from the day prior that made Jaime want to forfeit each match and throw himself at her. Instead, he sits on the chaise and watches.</p>
<p>Brienne raises Brightroar and strikes in a downward motion. “It’s a large blade.”</p>
<p>“Too heavy for my preference,” Jaime agrees, “but one can’t deny the quality.”</p>
<p>“You rely on speed; a sword of this heft would slow you down.”</p>
<p>Jaime nods, “It’s tiring, too--probably not for you, though.”</p>
<p>“I don’t often use a two-handed weapon.”</p>
<p>Brienne lowers the sword and looks like she means to return it to him; Jaime wants to watch her more. He shakes his head, “Go ahead; there’s plenty of room; you won’t dismember me by accident.”</p>
<p>“No, not by accident.”</p>
<p>Watching Brienne with a sword in her hands gives Jaime great pleasure. Even with the unfamiliar blade and no opponent before her, there’s a diligence and a kind of gracefulness to her strikes. Jaime wasn’t surprised to find that Brienne was a fine dancer. The red and black of Brightroar’s blade blur together from the speed of Brienne’s movements, but Jaime finds himself watching her rather than the sword. The sleeves of her shirt are rolled to her elbows, and the way the muscles move under her skin makes Jaime wish for a glass of cold water. </p>
<p>When Brienne faces away from him, it’s almost worse. The strength of the muscles of her back as she moves make him lightheaded; all his blood <em> certainly </em> rushes to his cock. Then, Jaime looks <em> down </em> and would risk mortal peril to know what it would feel like to have her legs wrapped around him.</p>
<p><em> Please, for the love of the Seven don’t turn around. </em>Surely, with a few deep breaths, Jaime can compose himself. He takes in as much air as possible through his nose; unfortunately, the noise makes Brienne turn.</p>
<p>“Ser?”</p>
<p>“N-Nothing, wench. Just breathing.”</p>
<p>The crease between her brow shifts from determination to annoyance, “If you’ve suggestions on my form, I’d hear them.”</p>
<p>“Your <em> form?” </em>A boyish sort of embarrassment overcomes Jaime--like he’s been caught peeping at a girl in the bath. “Gods be good, Brienne, put the sword down and come here.” </p>
<p>Brightroar is back in its scabbard, and Brienne is barely seated before Jaime winds his arms around her and kisses her. Surprised, Brienne nearly <em> squeaks, </em> and it’s so utterly charming that Jaime’s left with no recourse but to keep kissing her as he guides them until he’s resting against the decorative pillows, and Brienne is between his bent knees.</p>
<p>“How…” Brienne stumbles between kisses, “How did we...get like this?”</p>
<p>“You’re too beguiling with a blade in your hands. I couldn’t stand to just watch for a moment more.”</p>
<p>Brienne’s pale skin, already flushed from swordplay and kissing, grows pink at the compliment. “I was enjoying myself, but I suppose this will do.”</p>
<p>“Don’t make me compete with Brightroar,” he teases, “I’ll toss in into a lake.”</p>
<p>“You <em> wouldn’t.” </em></p>
<p>The torrent of desire Jaime felt while watching Brienne reduces to a simmer now that he has her close. She nestles in and rests her head against his chest. The sun is warm, and so is Brienne. <em> I could stay if she were here. </em>Or, he could follow Brienne where she longed to go.</p>
<p>“This feels like--” <em> Home, </em>he nearly blurts. “I’ve never sat with someone like this.”</p>
<p>“Me neither.”</p>
<hr/>
<p>All Jaime requires is an embroidery hoop and the afternoon with Olenna and Margaery will transport him back two decades. As a boy, he thought Olenna had somehow managed to devise a crueler use of his time than when his father made him study sums and letters. If he longed to be out in the yard as the letters in some old, musty tome twisted themselves as he tried to read, it was nothing compared to needlework.</p>
<p>“My sister and I used to trade places,” Jaime admitted one afternoon as he sat, restless, in Olenna’s solar.</p>
<p>“Ah, so you know the basics,” she’d slyly replied.</p>
<p>It was a lost cause after that.</p>
<p>Swapping with Cersei felt like a fun secret between the two of them--this was decidedly the opposite. </p>
<p>“You need to learn some discipline,” Olenna had scolded, “and it won’t hurt you to have some basic skills.”</p>
<p>Of course, she’d been right--it <em> had </em> proven useful knowing how to mend his clothes. The same skill was a boon when a Dothraki arakh sliced a deep wound into the flesh of his arm. There was a scar, but thanks to Brightroar, the Dothraki and his horse fared <em> much </em> worse.</p>
<p>Today, Jaime feels like the odd man in the solar. Leonette, Garlan’s wife, is present, as is Lady Alerie and Mace’s two sisters, Janna and Mina. Margaery is accompanied by two of her lady’s maids.</p>
<p>“Ser Jaime,” Lady Alerie says, “you’re an usual attendee at a gathering such as this.”</p>
<p>“I but go where your daughter and goodmother bid me, my lady.”</p>
<p>Margaery giggles and pulls a bundle of blue silk from the sewing basket at her feet. The fabric is a lighter blue than Brienne’s eyes. “I’ve a spare project, if you’d like.”</p>
<p>Jaime waves a hand dismissively, “Certainly not, Margaery.”</p>
<p>“You could make something for Lady Brienne,” Margaery teases.</p>
<p>Olenna chuckles, “She might better like a suit of armor.”</p>
<p>
  <em> It’s a blessing that Brienne wasn’t in her chambers; I’m more equipped to handle this group than she is. </em>
</p>
<p>The conversation turns to the tourney, the wedding, and the feasts. Margaery’s ladies make a thinly veiled comment about the lack of a bedding ceremony and ask after Renly’s duties as a husband. Her answer is clever, if oblique, and it leads Jaime to assume her marriage to Renly remains unconsummated.</p>
<p><em> Good, </em> Jaime thinks, <em> let it remain that way for as long as she wishes. </em></p>
<p>Deftly, Margaery steers the conversation to her impending move to Storm’s End. “Lord Renly wishes to remain her for some weeks to become properly acquainted with everyone. We’re to stay for another moon, at least.”</p>
<p>“I know it’s the way for daughters to leave home,” Lady Alerie touches her daughter's hand, “but I will miss you so when you go.”</p>
<p>“I’ll miss her the most,” Olenna replies dryly. </p>
<p><em> “Please,” </em>Margaery says, “don’t look so down about it. Loras will be with me, and once we have our household set up, all of you can visit.”</p>
<p>“That’s a long trip for these old bones,” Olenna says, “but secure me a comfortable enough carriage, and I’ll make it.”</p>
<p><em> A month. </em>A horrible realization dawns on Jaime--Brienne is tied to Renly, which means she’ll leave Highgarden then, too. Something must show on his face because Margaery reaches across the table and takes his hand.</p>
<p>“Lady Brienne won’t know you wish for her to remain if you don’t tell her.”</p>
<p>Brienne swore an oath to Renly, even though it seemed to Jaime that it brought her no honor or happiness. </p>
<p>
  <em> How could I ask her to give that up? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next week, Jaime and Brienne <i>really</i> get to know one another. 😏</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Brienne V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i>“What</i> are you doing?”</p><p>“Bathing,” Jaime affects an innocent tone, “I thought that was the agreed upon plan.”</p><p>“I...I didn’t think you meant <i>together.”</i> Brienne’s last word is particularly shrill.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>America voted out a fascist dictator, and I've had a couple drinks. There's something to celebrate, so enjoy some smut a day early! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉</p><p>Thank you to aliveanddrunkonsunlight for beta reading! Her suggestions improved this chapter significantly.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“If you want to best me,” Jaime drawls from twenty paces away, “Try being a bit more creative.”</p><p>Brienne scowls at both the sunlight and the insufferable man who’s speaking, “If you’re suggesting I fight dirty, ser--”</p><p>He’s been dancing around her for nearly an hour, dodging and blocking all her strikes while teasing her; it’s starting to make Brienne irritated.</p><p>“There’s no fighting dirty when it’s you or the man at the end of your blade--there’s only your blood on the ground or his.”</p><p><em> It’s true. </em> As honorable as Ser Goodwin had been, he’d always made sure Brienne knew her opponents wouldn’t be honorable. Jaime told her a number of stories from his travels over the last sennight; he had <em> real </em> combat experience--against bandits, pirates, Dothraki, and Seven knows who else.</p><p><em> “Fine,” </em> Brienne shouts, “If I can’t disarm you honorably, what would you have me do?”</p><p>“Well, what assets do you have over me?”</p><p>Brienne considers for a moment before replying, “Strength.”</p><p>Jaime’s brilliant grin tells her she answered right. “Let’s say I was a fool and underestimated that about you. What would you do?”</p><p>“I’d--”</p><p>He shakes a finger at her, “Don’t tell me, sweetling. Just do it.”</p><p>Normally, the endearment makes Brienne blush, especially when Jaime whispers it heatedly into her ear. Her name seems reserved for his intermittent bouts of sincerity. <em> Sweetling </em> is better than <em> wench, </em>but Jaime says them all with the same unmasked affection. </p><p>This time, he <em> might </em> be trying to irritate her.</p><p>Brienne runs at him, dropping her tourney blade at the last moment in favor of tackling Jaime to the ground. It would be an insult to his reflexes to assume Jaime was startled into dropping his blade, but the yelp that leaves him seems genuine enough.</p><p><em> “Weak,” </em>he goads as he tries to shove her off him, “Is that the best you’ve got?”</p><p>Frustrated, Brienne tries to pin his arms and is rewarded by Jaime’s attempt to wriggle away from her. What follows could be best described as an impromptu wrestling match--arms and legs flailing as Jaime tries to get the upper hand. Before Brienne realizes it, they’ve rolled at least twice, ending with Brienne straddling Jaime, pinning his arms to the ground at his sides. He bucks up against her and tries to free his hands. Brienne, quite lost in the heat of the moment, tightens her legs. Jaime’s hair has bits of grass in it, and there’s a smudge of dirt on his cheek. He’s <em> still </em> the most handsome man she’s ever seen. She tries to ignore how closely they’re pressed together and how easy it would be to get even closer.</p><p><em> “Wench,” </em> Jaime’s chests heaves, <em>“Seven hells, </em>I yield. I didn’t expect to be wrestled into submission.”</p><p>Brienne moves so Jaime can free his arms, and she plants her hands in the grass, “I...might’ve been provoked to excess.”</p><p>“Imagine if someone happened by,” Jaime smirks, “and saw you chastising your poor, defenseless lover in such a cruel manner.”</p><p>Everytime Jaime says the word <em> lover, </em> Brienne’s certain her heart races loud enough for him to notice. “Once you spoke for a moment, I’m sure they’d understand my position.”</p><p>“They might,” Jaime laughs; then, his expression softens as he reaches up and pulls a blade of grass from her unbound hair. “Did you tussle like this as a girl?”</p><p>“When my brother and I would fight, he’d let me win,” she answers, “but he died when I was quite young. I broke my nose fighting a boy in the village near Evenfall.”</p><p>“What did the lad do to earn your ire?”</p><p>“He...he insulted my mother.” Brienne’s voice drops to a whisper, “He said she must’ve been a beast to have a daughter like me.”</p><p>“Rude.” Jaime runs his finger down the bridge of her nose. “Did you prevail?”</p><p>“Yes, but I felt bad, after. It was just words.”</p><p>“Just words,” Jaime repeats, “Words have power.”</p><p>Brienne feels a strange tightness in her chest. “It was long ago.”</p><p>Jaime nods and pulls more blades of grass from her hair. Then, he runs his thumb over her cheek; there must be a smudge of dirt. “We’ve made a sweaty mess of ourselves. Does a late morning bath interest you?”</p>
<hr/><p>Highgarden’s baths are lovely--room after room of round pools surrounded by blue patterned tiles. Unlike Evenfall, where the baths are underground and fed by water from a spring, the space is airy, with sunlight filtering in from windows high on the walls. It’s brighter than Brienne might prefer, but each tub is private enough. The first time Brienne came here, she decided she could bear the brightness after weeks spent on the road washing with a wet rag and a bowl in her tent. Renly’s men would strip and bathe in a river or stream; sometimes, the women would join them, but Brienne never wanted to.</p><p>She’s quite looking forward to soaking until Jaime closes the door behind them, gathers soap and things from a small shelf near the door, and starts taking off his clothes. He’s got his boots off and is working on his jerkin before Brienne shouts and turns her back to him.</p><p><em> “What </em> are you doing?”</p><p>“Bathing,” Jaime affects an innocent tone, “I thought that was the agreed upon plan.”</p><p>“I...I didn’t think you meant <em> together.” </em> Brienne’s last word is particularly shrill.</p><p><em> “We, </em> my lady; I said <em> we.” </em> A patch of silence follows. “I’ll even wash your back.”</p><p>Imagining Jaime’s wet hands sliding over her skin makes Brienne shiver; the air is humid from the steam rising from the tub, so that’s not the cause. Her mind darts to imagining the <em> rest </em> of him dripping with water, and a nervous sort of desire settles over her. Brienne scrunches her eyes shut, even though her back is still turned.</p><p>Jaime sighs, “I’ll go, Brienne. I overstepped.”</p><p><em> “Wait. </em>C-Can you look away while I…”</p><p>Jaime doesn’t peak while Brienne disrobes and sinks into the water. The heat is soothing, and the water is deep enough that it rises above her breasts when she sits. </p><p>“I expect the same courtesy,” Jaime calls out.</p><p>Brienne bends her knees and rests her forehead on them, “I’m <em> not </em> looking.”</p><p>There’s some rustling and a tiny splash. “There, <em> now </em> you can look.”</p><p>Brienne peers through her fingers to find Jaime seated at the edge of the tub, <em> completely </em> naked. She looks down, <em> once, </em> hoping Jaime doesn’t notice the journey her eyes take. If his skin wasn’t such a warm hue, she might think he was carved from marble. Every line of him is cut too artfully to be real. Brienne longs to trail her hands over muscle and skin, to learn him in a way sparring doesn’t afford. </p><p>“You tricked me, ser.” Brienne rests her hands atop her knees. <em> Of all the things to say. </em></p><p>Jaime enters the water and glides over to her, sitting close but not touching.  “I simply gave you permission to do what you wanted.”</p><p>“H-How do you know what I want?”</p><p>“Are you always so mulish?” Jaime laughs, “Your eyes reveal much, my lady, as does your body.”</p><p>All the times she’d forgotten herself when they kissed and slid questing hands under Jaime’s clothes. The thrill that floods her when Jaime draws her close, and she feels the hard length of him pressed against her. How obscenely <em> wet </em> she’d been the night of the feast when he slid his fingers between her thighs. She’d been intoxicated by the way he groaned in her ear when he rutted against her thigh. </p><p>“I’m only pigheaded,” she mutters.</p><p>“If I wanted docile, I’d have let my father or Olenna wed me off to some simpering highborn maid a decade ago.” Jaime’s smile is tender, almost bashful, as he comes close enough their thighs brush. He takes a chunk of soap off and fills the pail at the edge of the tub with water. “Close your eyes.”</p><p>When her hair is wet, Jaime kneels beside her and sinks his soapy fingers into her hair, and Brienne forgets <em> everything, </em> No one’s done <em> anything </em> like this since Septa Roelle used to scrub at her skin so aggressively Briene thought she was trying to remove her freckles. Jaime’s fingers scratching against her scalp make her feel like she’s melting into the hot water. When he reaches the base of her neck, the moan that leaves her makes Brienne glad her eyes are shut.</p><p>“As much as I enjoy a good challenge, you don’t have to fight <em> everything.” </em> Jaime’s rich laugh creates an ache between Brienne’s legs; she squeezes her thighs together in an attempt to find relief.</p><p>“That’s...not been my experience.”</p><p>“Nor mine.” He fills the pail once more. Brienne keeps her eyes closed as water pours over her head. When Jaime’s through, she pushes her dripping hair from her face. Jaime has replaced the pail and soap on the ledge and leans into her. This time, his grin is wicked. “I could use something that isn’t a fight.”</p><p>Jaime is wet and bared and before her; all Brienne has to do is reach out. He isn’t Renly, who was safe to love because he was unreachable. The fear of that offered closeness crawls up her throat and makes her want to flee. It makes her almost wish it was a trick because <em> that </em> pain is familiar. </p><p><em> You have to hold your ground; no one will do it for you. </em> Ser Goodwin told her that more than a decade ago. He wished for her to be bold.</p><p>“I could, too.” </p><p>“You know, I’ve wanted to touch you like this since that night in your room.” Jaime traces a wet finger along her collarbone and down her sternum, stopping just shy of where the steamy water laps against her breasts. “I was so disappointed when you dashed behind the changing screen.”</p><p>Jaime started by kissing her, languid and sweet, until it felt like the heat from the room was getting to her. He’s sitting beside her, and Brienne doesn’t know where to look. The way the droplets cling to the golden hair on his chest draws her eye, but so does the hair curling around his shoulders in damp tendrils. Brienne hasn’t <em> dared </em> glance at the water.</p><p>“You’ve wanted to...to <em> tickle me?” </em> Jaime’s fingers have made their home at a soft patch of skin at her side. Brienne tries not to giggle; it doesn’t suit her. She grabs his hand instead.</p><p>“It’s called foreplay,” he lowers his voice to an inviting whisper, “Unless you’ll be wetter if I throw you over my shoulder and abscond with you? I hear the Wildlings beyond the Wall claim a lover that way.”</p><p>“You--I’m too heavy.”</p><p>“We’ll test it later.” Jaime’s hand is beneath the water, now, and he gives her nipple a light pinch. It startles Brienne so much she tenses and nearly stands. He dissolves into laughter, “Do I need to lash you to something to keep you still? Or sit on you?”</p><p>Her shoulders are hunched like she’s expecting a rebuke, but Jaime touches her like she’s delicate. “I...I’m not soft,” she whispers, “I don’t know if I can be.”</p><p>“You are.” Jaime swipes his thumb over her lower lip. <em> “Here.” </em>He cups her breast. “And here.” He touches her stomach and inches downward. “Here, too. Let me prove it.”</p><p>Brienne’s blood pounds in her ears; <em> whatever </em> Jaime’s referring to, she wants it. “Please,” she says, and it sounds so needy her cheeks heat.</p><p>“Sit on the edge.”</p><p>Water sluices off of Brienne. Jaime’s eyes rove over her, and there’s no mistaking the heated expression. Brienne’s knees wobble in the face of such desire, so she sits. Jaime rests his chin on her knee. He looks like some golden water nymph coming to enchant her. </p><p>“Now, lie back.”</p><p>The tile is cold enough on her back that she yelps. Jaime chuckles. He nudges her knees apart so she’s bared to him. It’s much, <em> much </em> different than the candlelight in her room. Jaime rubs his beard against the soft skin inside her knee before kissing his way upward. He knows her well because he keeps one hand on her other leg, lest she try to close them. Brienne tenses the closer Jaime gets, certain he’ll reach his destination and grow displeased.</p><p>“Brienne,” his breath tickles, “no man who’s worth your time would find <em> anything </em> lacking here.” Jaime’s nose nuzzles against her damp hair. Then, she feels the first wet rasp of his tongue against her cunt, and all thoughts fly from her mind. He licks slowly, like he’s trying to acclimate to her to the concept, tracing aimless patterns on her thigh. When he flicks his tongue near the top of her entrance, Brienne lets out a shaky breath, reaches, and sinks her fingers into Jaime’s hair.</p><p><em> “That’s </em> the spot.” He repeats the motion, and Brienne arches off the tile and pushes his head against her. Jaime’s chuckle vibrates through her. <em> “Gods, </em> there’s a wanton woman buried under that armor of yours.”</p><p>“J-Jaime...”</p><p>Every flick and swipe of Jaime’s tongue creates a pressure in the pit of her stomach. The building of her release is so much different than when she touched herself, or even when she guided Jaime’s fingers between her thighs. His hair is tangled between her fingers as she holds him where she wants him. The only sounds are her panting breaths and the water lapping at the edge of the tub.</p><p>“You’re close, sweetling.” Jaime tugs her legs so they’re over his shoulders, heels resting on his back. “But you’d know better than me.”</p><p>“I-I am.” Brienne opens her eyes. Jaime’s head rests against her thigh; he wears the same smug expression as when he bests her. <em> I’ve lost again, but I don’t care. </em></p><p>Jaime dives back in. As her cunt clenches, her thighs shake, and a shudder passes through her entire body, making her arch off the tile again. Halting the moan that passes her lips would be akin to plugging a dam with her hands. Brienne covers her mouth with her hand, only to have Jaime link their fingers together and press them against the tile.</p><p>“I’d like to hear you.” Brienne is powerless to do anything but obey, and when she grows louder, Jaime chuckles and says, “You’re being so good for me.”</p><p>When the room ceases spinning, Jaime looms over her, one hand braced beside her head. His beard is wet; he’s still smirking and stroking her cunt, lazy touches against her heated skin. </p><p><em> “Now, </em>you’re relaxed.”</p><p>“...Um.”</p><p>“And, better yet, <em> speechless.” </em> He leans down and kisses her, slipping his tongue into her mouth when she parts her lips. The taste of herself on his lips makes her ache with desire. She catches words, scraps of praise, between kisses. “An hour ago you were parrying blows and wrestling me to the ground. You’re so, <em> so </em> good. That was perfect.”</p><p>Brienne flushes, but it’s different from embarrassment--the warm candle that kind words leave in her chest. Part of her wants to close her eyes, but she’d miss the fact that Jaime is beaming at her. She feels vulnerable, but it’s almost freeing.</p><p>“I’ve wanted you since the melee. You look <em> right </em> with a sword in your hands,” Jaime drops to a whisper, “but I find you just as alluring when you’re flushed and sated.”</p><p>“I’ve been told I don’t blush prettily.”</p><p>“You’re so quiet, yet every inch of you shows what you want.”</p>
<hr/><p>If Jaime is going to take her, Brienne’s not going to lie back like a wilted flower and not participate. It goes against what she was taught, but so did picking up a sword. Not a single one of her septa’s lessons contained a whit of usefulness. When Jaime stands between her legs. Brienne pushes herself onto her elbows, not quite sitting, and reaches for his cock.</p><p>Renly’s camp had proven both shocking and illuminating; it also means Brienne’s observed such acts, even if she always tried to avert her eyes. Her grip is surely all wrong, and perhaps Jaime is accustomed to the soft skin of a highborn woman.</p><p>“It’s just a cock, Brienne; it’s not going to attack you.”</p><p>Brienne’s spent too long around men to find that statement accurate. It’s an unpleasant thought, so she studies the warm weight of Jaime in her hand instead, imagining his cock inside her. It’s not too overwhelming a concept. She strokes him, just once, and Jaime braces a hand against the tile. </p><p>He asked her what <em> she </em> wanted, so Brienne wants to do the same. “Tell me what to do.”</p><p>“I will, and you can torment me to oblivion next time.” Jaime puts his hands on her hips and tugs her until the head of his cock is pressing against her. “Moon tea. There’s some in my chambers.”</p><p>“Do you just...keep it around?”</p><p>Brienne <em> swears </em> his cheeks are flushed under his beard, “I went to the maester.”</p><p>Surprised, she blurts, “For <em> me?” </em></p><p>“No, for the other maidens I want to bed. Of course <em> you.” </em></p><p>“Why...didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>Jaime scratches the back of his head, “How do I phrase that without sounding like I’m pressuring you?”</p><p>She’s overcome with a wave of affection. <em> How does a man such as this even exist? </em> For all his japes, Jaime is tender and considerate. It makes Brienne want him even more. So much so that she hooks her leg around his waist and pushes him against her. “You’re not pressuring me.”</p><p><em> “Clearly,” </em> he teases.</p><p>Jaime enters her so slowly that it’s almost frustrating. She locks her ankles at his back and nudges him forward. There’s no pain--she’s wet enough and, as she suspected, her maidenhead fell long ago to horseback riding and fighting. Septa Roelle used to scold her for that, telling her that purity was her only value. When Jaime leans down and kisses her, Brienne has never believed those words less. Even if she’d wasn’t a maid, she thinks Jaime wouldn’t judge her for it.</p><p>“You’re well?”</p><p>“I’d be better if you moved,” Brienne closes her eyes and turns her head. <em> A lady shouldn’t sound so demanding. </em></p><p>“Oh, sweetling,” Jaime kisses her cheek; then, his breath is hot in her ear. “I’ll fuck you. Don’t worry.”</p><p>Jaime takes her with long, smooth strokes that leave Brienne gasping. She digs her heels into his back, and her hips rise to meet his of their own accord. Any awkwardness at having Jaime inside her gives way to pleasure. Their labored breaths and the slap of wet skin echoing in the room send an indecent rush of need through her. </p><p>“M-More,” Brienne gasps, but what she means, she doesn’t know.</p><p>An explanation isn’t needed; Jaime leans over her, bending her at the waist, and his next thrust sends a jolt through Brienne’s limbs. She wraps her arms around his back in case he changes his mind. Jaime fucks her with a series of staccato thrusts that leave her clinging to him. Instinctively, she clenches around him, and Jaime groans <em> wench </em> into her ear.</p><p>It’s much more satisfying than Brienne expected.</p><p>“I knew you’d like this,” he whispers, “Hang onto me; I want to try something.”</p><p>Brienne shouts when Jaime lifts her and tightens her grip on him. Then, she’s immersed in warm water. The jolt when Jaime sits feels akin to the clang of a sword against a shield. Even settling into his lap makes her moan. </p><p>The position makes Brienne feel ungainly, which douses the fervor a bit. </p><p>“Why...this?” </p><p>Jaime presses kisses to her throat in lieu of an answer. Near her ear, he whispers, “For you.”</p><p>“For me,” she repeats, “I’ve seen this before.”</p><p>“Buxom whores bouncing in men’s laps, spilling out of their bodices.” Jaime pushes against her, and Brienne shudders. “Did you watch?”</p><p><em> “No. </em>I--it was hard to avoid looking.” How Brienne can blush over witnessing something indecorous when Jaime’s cock is in her confuses her. The men were crude, but sometimes the women looked like they were enjoying themselves. “I was...curious.”</p><p>He laughs, but there’s no mocking in it. “Move, sweetling, and try it.”</p><p>Brienne tightens her thighs around Jaime and rolls her hips. She repeats it, again and again, until Jaime clutches her hips under the water. This time, <em> he’s </em> the one whose groan echoes in the room. Jaime clings to her and kisses her, messy and frantic.</p><p>“I bet you could do this for an hour and not tire,” Jaime gasps, “until I went mad from it.”</p><p>“Probably,” Brienne answers, and it’s not a boast.</p><p>There’s a certain power in rendering Jaime incoherent. Brienne sits back as much as the position allows, and he wastes no time in sliding his wet hands over her skin, skimming over her breasts and lower. </p><p>“You’re so good,” Jaime tells her, over and over, and, in the moment, Brienne wants nothing more than to prove the words true.</p><p>Eventually, Jaime closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the edge of the tub. “I don’t have an hour. If you want me to spill outside of you, tell me now.”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t want to separate, so she holds him close. “It’s all right.”</p><p>Jaime’s hips jerk erratically as his release takes him. He buries his head in her shoulder and whispers Brienne’s name into her ear, over and over. They fall silent for a moment. Brienne can feel Jaime’s cock softening inside her, but she doesn’t want to move.</p><p>“My lady,” he wiggles his hand between their bodies.</p><p>
  <em> “Jaime.” </em>
</p><p>Brienne’s confused, but only for a moment because Jaime touches her where they’re still joined. From the attention of his mouth and his cock, she’s never felt so sensitive. She rocks her hips as he touches her, and it takes only moments for her to climax a second time.</p><p>After, she sits beside Jaime and washes his hair as he’d done for her. It’s intimate, and warm, and softer than anything she’s known. That a man such as Jaime would defend her, and praise her, and touch her with such care. She’s glad his eyes are closed because tears burn behind her own. </p><p>When she rinses the soap and pushes the darkened-gold tresses away from his face, Jaime opens his eyes and smiles. “You deserve this much and more, and you shouldn’t accept less.”</p><p><em> That’s not how the world works </em> . Jaime surely knows that, though. <em> To know it, even briefly, is a gift. </em>Brienne knows she shouldn’t be covetous, but all she can think is how much she’s going to miss this feeling when their time together ends.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Jaime and Brienne aren't very subtle, and Randyll Tarly gets some comeuppance.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Jaime VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You whisked the girl off the dance floor in the middle of the wedding feast and didn’t return.” Olenna raises her brows. “What do you suppose that looked like?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for all for the wonderful comments last week! Good to know that bathtub smut is still a canon staple lol.</p><p>This chapter contains some mentions of sexual assault/rape. The bet is referenced/joked about, and Randyll Tarly says some typical disgusting shit. It's no more explicit than in prior chapters and is all contained in dialogue with none of what is discussed actually occurring.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time with Brienne is a fantasy Jaime can’t help losing himself in.</p><p>A few days pass. If Jaime isn’t assisting Olenna in whatever task she deems her own son unfit to complete or being forced to socialize with Renly and, by extension, Robert, he’s pulling Brienne into his chambers and bolting the door.</p><p>Brienne sheds her insecurities in small increments, and to watch the change is almost lovelier than the fruits of the process. The first time Brienne kisses him and pushes him against his chamber door, the forcefulness behind her movements--that she knows what she desires and that she can get it from him--fills Jaime with such unrestrained ardor that he slides to the floor and takes her there. Brienne buries her face in his neck afterwards, skin so hot where they touch that Jaime entertains the ridiculous notion that she’ll burn him.</p><p>“S-sorry,” she mumbles.</p><p>Jaime’s post-coital mind is slow to rally, so a few seconds pass before he asks “Whatever for?”</p><p>“I thought about you as soon as we parted this morning,” she continues, “and when I saw you again, I just wanted--regardless, I pushed you into the door.”</p><p>“That you did, wench.”</p><p>“You sound...pleased?”</p><p>“Quite so.”</p><p>Jaime grins like a fool, and Brienne remains confused.</p><p>Brienne grows skeptical when too much attention is paid to her, which only makes Jaime want to do it all the more. It’s obvious that few genuine compliments have been paid to her, so Jaime makes it his personal mission to tell her all the remarkable things he sees in her.</p><p>“I’m not beautiful,” Brienne often says, “I know what truth the mirror tells.”</p><p>The first few times she critiqued herself, Jaime wasn’t sure how to respond. Jaime <em> hates </em> shallow flattery, so he won’t woo Brienne with lies. The truth always came to light and left him feeling used. Over the years, he’d grown suspicious of niceties. Brienne learned that hard lesson much earlier than Jaime. </p><p>“Beauty fades, and beauty lies,” Jaime tells her one evening. They’re sitting on his bed, and it’s late enough that the castle has gone to sleep, and there’s only candlelight to accompany their conversation. “It isn’t everything.”</p><p>“You say that because you possess it. My life would be very different if I looked like Lady Margaery.” </p><p>Brienne compliments other women frequently, but she never sounds envious or spiteful. Cersei, both when they were children and, later, in King’s Landing at Aerys’s court, was <em> always </em> insulting the women around her.</p><p>“It might be,” Jaime concedes, “but Margaery’s still a girl, and Olenna nurtured her cleverness. She wed Renly in a bid to keep her autonomy. If you looked like her, you’d be married already with a babe. Then what of your dreams?”</p><p>“I think I’d have different dreams if I wasn’t...as I am,” Brienne’s gaze is downcast, but her next words brim with confidence. “I’m skilled, though, with a blade.”</p><p><em> She’s not asking for my approval. </em> Brienne doesn’t need it.</p><p>“You are,” he agrees, “and that gives you a mastery of your destiny most women lack.”</p><p>“...And more scorn.”</p><p>“Jealousy,” Jaime says, “and ire because you don’t fall neatly into your role. They don’t know what to do with you.”</p><p>Brienne sighs and closes her eyes, “Sometimes, <em> I </em> don’t know what to do with me, or what I want.”</p><p>It’s anguish when Brienne shuts her eyes; she does it when she’s embarrassed or overwhelmed, like shutting out the world will make her unseen. </p><p>“I don’t know what to do with myself, either.” The admission hurts a bit--all Jaime knows how to do is wander far and wide, seeking <em>something</em>. “But <em>you...</em>open your eyes.”</p><p>She obeys, and Jaime finds himself distracted by the flutter of her pale lashes. Brienne bites her lip, a gesture he’s learned she does when she’s uncertain. The vulnerable expression overlaid with her stubbornness beguiles Jaime the same way every time.</p><p>“Brienne, take off your clothes.”</p><p>Jaime swears he can <em> see </em> Brienne’s pulse jump under her pale skin. She makes her requests known with gestures--pushing him to the bed, tugging his hand where she wants it, or burying her fingers in his hair to hold him close. Her growing confidence in taking her pleasure would make Jaime grant her any request. In contrast, Jaime asks, plainly, for what he wants, and hopes Brienne will grant it.</p><p>Wordless, she rises from the bed and completes the task. Brienne’s movements aren’t a seduction, but they make Jaime burn hotter than any display he witnessed in an Essosi pleasure house. The dances whores did in pillow houses did little for him. Jaime doesn’t want to watch something he can’t touch. </p><p>The way the muscles in Brienne’s back shift as she tugs her shirt over her head, and the fact that she often wears nothing beneath it. By the time all her freckles are revealed, and she is pulling her smallclothes down, Jaime’s cock is straining against his breeches.</p><p>“As you requested.” Brienne’s expression is defiant; her tone does more than any coquettish behavior.</p><p>“Come here. I know you want to.”</p><p>Brienne obeys again. Jaime grins to himself at a perfect victory record of requests. Being seated on the bed puts him at eye level Brienne’s collarbone and it’s increasingly familiar constellation of freckles. He slides a hand from her hip to her backside to hold her still.</p><p>“What...what do I want, Jaime?”</p><p>“For me to begin here.” He kisses her collarbone, ending with a gentle drag of his teeth over her skin. “Then kiss my way to your cunt while telling you how godsdamned <em> perfect </em> you are.”</p><p>She shivers when Jaime presses his lips to her breast, Brienne sinks her fingers into his hair. <em> Show me what you want, </em> he thinks, <em> and I’ll tell you what I see. </em> </p><p>“You’re lovely,” Jaime whispers, “and I want you to know it.”</p><p><em> To take with you when you go. </em>If the truth he sees in Brienne gives her a measure of comfort, or confidence, or even a fond memory, Jaime will be glad. To know he had an impact on her. It wouldn’t be his most heroic deed, but it would be his fondest.</p><p>Brienne gasps, “I--I’m not comely.”</p><p>“You’re strong and charming with your blushes.” He slides his hand between her thighs and finds her already wet and wanting. “You’ve beautiful eyes.”</p><p>“You mean those things.”</p><p>Jaime slides two fingers into her cunt. Brienne widens her stance to give him better access, and Jaime grins at the sheer fact that she seems to do it without thinking. “I’ve never lied to you.”</p><p>Brienne will remain steady on her feet until her climax hits her; Jaime has tested it with both his mouth and his fingers. Right now, she’s gripping his shoulder a bit too tightly. The slight discomfort doesn’t bother him. Brienne’s hips jerk to meet his fingers, and her breath comes in short pants, and she says his name.</p><p>Then she says his name a second time, more firmly.</p><p>“My lady?”</p><p>She has that determined expression where her brows crease and her lips purse. Jaime thinks it’s a formidable look, and that a man on the receiving end must needs be wary. </p><p>“Would you....” Now, she’s a shy maid once more; it makes Jaime’s heart race. “Would you like it if I-I used my mouth on--”</p><p>“Brienne,” Jaime blurts, “are you asking to suck my cock?”</p><p><em> “Gods.” </em> Brienne buries her face in her hands as the blush creeps from her face to her breasts. “I-I’m <em> offering.” </em></p><p>“Why now?”</p><p>“Well, you always--”</p><p>“So it’s about reciprocity?”</p><p>She shakes her head, “Do you not want it?”</p><p>“Oh, I do but only if you’re willing. You don’t owe it to me.”</p><p>“If I weren’t willing, I’d not have offered.”</p><p>Brienne kneels, reaches for his laces, and takes out his cock. Jaime immediately breaks out in a sweat. He’s done his damnedest until now to be the composed lover Brienne deserves, but when she gives the head of his cock a tentative swirl of her tongue, Jaime knows he’s going to crumble to pieces. She licks from the base to the head, twice, then looks up at Jaime.</p><p><em> Those eyes. </em>The fact that a sennight ago she was a maid, and now she’s kneeling before him.</p><p>“Tell me,” she whispers, circling his cock with her fingers, “I want...I want to do it well.” She puts the other hand on his knee, just as he did with her the first time. </p><p>“That’s not so hard,” Jaime teases, “but I’ll guide you.”</p><p>Jaime’s hands start on the bed, but they move to Brienne’s hair the instant she takes his cock into her mouth. The heat and the way she keeps glancing up at him is overwhelming. Her cheeks hollow out as she tests the amount of pressure, and it’s the most wonderful and indecent thing. Brienne’s tongue sends such a jolt of pleasure through him that it’s all Jaime can do to not twist her hair between his fingers.</p><p>“Brienne,” he gulps for air but can’t fill his lungs, “you’re too good.”</p><p>He murmurs fragmented bits of praise and encouragement. Most of them are nonsense, and Jaime can’t tell if they truly guide her. It doesn’t matter because he’s walking a sword’s edge and will end up toppling over regardless.</p><p>“Sweetling.” Jaime slides his hands from her hair to her cheeks. She moans at the endearment, and the noise arouses enough sensation that Jaime only manages to get out “I’m going to--” before the moment is upon him.</p><p>Jaime has spilled into Brienne’s cunt, into her hands or onto clothes or bed linens, but the feel of her mouth as his climax hits him is entirely new. Brienne, ever committed, seems startled but doesn’t pull back until the last ungainly jerk of his hips.</p><p>Brienne has her hand over her mouth, and her face is scrunched in distaste. Jaime grabs the nearest fabric he can find, which happens to be an errant shirt, and passes it to Brienne. When she wipes her mouth and puts the fabric on the bedside table, Jaime starts laughing.</p><p>“I-I’m sorry,” he says between chuckles, “I meant to tell you, but the timing--”</p><p>She rises and touches Jaime’s chin so he meets her eyes. “It matters not. Although…”</p><p>“It’s not a pleasant taste,” he finishes, “You were so good, though.”</p><p>Jaime doesn’t mind the taste of himself in her mouth when Brienne kisses him, and he goes easily when she pushes him onto the bed. She’s blushing as he works his breeches the rest of the way off and kicks them to the floor. </p><p>“I can’t fuck you so quickly, but I’ll find a way to mark the time.”</p>
<hr/><p>Whether word spreads inward to the castle or outward to the troops camped around Highgarden is of little consequence. A kitchen wench beds a soldier, or a drunken wedding guest talks a bit too loudly. Olenna’s right--the only way to keep a secret between two people is if one of them has been sent to meet the Stranger. </p><p>Jaime is used to whispers behind his back and conversations that end when he turns to look. It doesn’t stop him from acting--in fact, sometimes, it makes him act in ways that are contrary to his best interests.</p><p>Brienne isn’t so used to it, even though she puts up a brave front. Jaime’s only witnessed one thing she <em> doesn’t </em> bear stoically--her love for Renly Baratheon. He didn’t want to see her waste her tears on that vainglorious fool. Jaime doesn’t want her to shed tears over her association with him, either. </p><p>The first time Jaime hears talk about Brienne and him, it’s from some of Renly’s men. </p><p>He’s running a tedious errand for Olenna that involves meeting a merchant ship at the docks of the Mander. It’s the type of task both Mace Tyrell <em> and </em> Tywin Lannister would send a man of a lower station to take care of, albeit for <em> very </em> different reasons. Jaime overheard Mace and Olenna discussing it and offered to go. Most merchants will cut a fair price when a Lannister is doing the negotiations. Jaime suspects he’ll return to the castle before supper. </p><p>Jaime’s errand necessitates riding Honor through Renly’s camp. He dresses as inconspicuously as he can manage. The men he passes are idle and bored, and it shows in both the state of the camp and the fact that they’re loitering about. If Jaime were Renly, he would’ve brought fewer men or found them something to occupy their time. Surely, there is <em> some </em>task between the smallfolk or the castle that would benefit from their assistance.</p><p>The men he hears are from the melee; he recognizes some of their sigils and some from Brienne’s descriptions. She’d been reluctant to discuss the bet and her suitors, but Jaime coaxed it out of her one evening. Brienne spoke of her father’s shit matches for her, too, and Jaime had to stop himself from proposing to her on the spot.</p><p><em> Overly eager, </em> Olenna’s voice chimed in his mind.</p><p>Jaime catches scraps of conversation-- </p><p>“Why would the Kingslayer even <em> look </em> at her?”</p><p>“Maybe he went mad in Essos. They said the heat gets to a man.”</p><p>“They <em> can’t </em>be fucking.”</p><p>One of the men says, "The bitch pushed me into a cookfire when I tried to kiss her. Singed right through the arse of my breeches.”</p><p>They all laugh, but all Jaime thinks is <em> good for Brienne. </em></p><p>Another says, “The fuckin’ bet was bullshit anyway; she wasn’t going to let any of us fuck her.”</p><p>“I’m not sure the coin would’ve been worth it, anyway”</p><p>“Well, now she’s the Kingslayer’s Whore.”</p><p>A fourth man exits the nearest tent. Jaime recognizes him--the last knight Brienne was matched against in the melee before she fought Loras.</p><p>"I could’ve won the bet had fucking Tarly not intervened.” The man has an unearned smugness that makes Jaime want to break his nose. <em> “I </em> got further than any of you lot.”</p><p>“Fuck you, Hunt.”</p><p><em> So that’s Hunt. </em> He started the bet; now Jaime wants to punch him even more.</p><p>Hunt laughs, “The wager was fun, but in the dark, a cunt is a cunt. The Maid of Tarth has value.”</p><p>“You <em> started </em> the bet.”</p><p>“Selwyn Tarth is the lord of an <em> entire </em> island. I would’ve won the bet <em> and </em> gotten her to marry me. Who the fuck cares what she looks like when you’ve an <em> entire </em>island? I’ll go fuck a comely whore and be lord of a castle.”</p><p>It takes all the willpower Jaime has not to dismount from Honor’s back and go to the group with his fists flying. He’d done worse as a boy, both at Casterly Rock and Highgarden. It always ended with a scuffle, and his father, then Olenna, making him sit and <em> think. </em> His father never cared about the reason, but Olenna usually inquired so she could call him a fool over it.</p><p>What <em> really </em> keeps Jaime riding on is that Brienne wouldn’t want him to interfere.</p>
<hr/><p>Olenna looks at Jaime like he’s a fool, which might just mean that she’s looking at him at all.</p><p>He tells her the entire thing; he tells her <em> too </em> much. Jaime hasn’t been so forthcoming with personal details since he confessed to her about proposing to Cersei when he returned to Highgarden after leaving the Kingsguard.</p><p>“Do you think you’re a Targaryen instead of a Lannister?” Olenna had laughed, “Of <em> course </em> she refused your ridiculous proposal. She’s to become a queen.”</p><p>“We’re--” Jaime replied. He had wanted to explain to Olenna that he always thought, and was always told, that he and Cersei were two halves.</p><p>“In love?” Olenna laughed again, and the sound rubbed Jaime raw. “What could you offer her but scandal? I don’t know your sister, but if she’s Tywin’s daughter, she’ll choose power over love. Whether she’ll get it married to Robert Baratheon remains to be seen.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t choose power.”</p><p>Olenna had smiled, not quite toothless yet. “Boy, you’re different.”</p><p>
  <em> And a fool. </em>
</p><p>Today, she gives him much the same expression when she says, “What did you expect would happen, carrying on like squirrels in the springtime when every noble house is here from the Reach and beyond?” </p><p>Her tone makes Jaime feel eight summer’s old. “I...suppose I thought we were maintaining discretion.”</p><p>“You whisked the girl off the dance floor in the middle of the wedding feast and didn’t return.” Olenna raises her brows. “What do you <em> suppose </em> that looked like?”</p><p>“I’d had a lot of mead,” Jaime pouts in his chair and crosses his arms.</p><p>“How many bastards are born in nine moons from that excuse? King Robert will likely have a half-dozen new ones from the wedding feast alone.”</p><p>“I went to the maester and got her the tea.” Jaime hates that he wants Olenna’s approval for the gesture, but the desire is there. </p><p>Olenna gives him a rare approving smile; it reaches her eyes, “You’re only half of a shit, boy.”</p><p>“Would it kill you to just be kind for once?”</p><p>“Yes,” she says, “and I’m not meeting the Stranger until I’m confident this place won’t come to ruin in a year.”</p><p>“I’m thinking of staying.” Jaime hasn’t stated his intent aloud yet; it feels good on his tongue. </p><p>“Good,” Olenna snaps, “What will you do about Lady Brienne?”</p><p>“I can’t ask her to stay here.”</p><p>“And <em> why </em> in the Seven Hells not? I’ve spoken to the girl; all she’s gotten in Renly’s camp is threats of rape and scorn. Why would she want to remain?”</p><p>“She loved him.” Jaime hopes that’s past tense, but perhaps he doesn’t have that right. “What’s more, she swore an oath to serve him.”</p><p><em> “Gods, </em>you knights and your damned oaths. You know what they’re saying about her now that you’ve bedded her.” </p><p>“They’re calling her my whore,” Jaime shakes his head, “but it’s selfish, to ask her, and she shouldn’t be punished for taking a lover--”</p><p>Olenna scoffs, “But she <em> will </em> be, Jaime, and it will follow her long after Renly leaves here. I’m sure Lady Brienne knew the consequences when she let you into her bed. No woman can escape them.”</p><p>It’s unfair, but true. Jaime fucking Brienne earns him a reputation for dubious taste, but it makes Brienne his whore.</p><p>“You’re telling me to wed her?”</p><p>“I’m telling you to offer her a better choice than swearing herself to a man who sees her as a mummer’s sideshow and dealing, daily, with Lord Randyll Tarly.”</p><p>“He’s the biggest cunt.”</p><p>“Lady Brienne is brave, but she has the heart of a maid,” Olenna reaches out and takes Jaime’s hand. “This world will chew her up and spit her out. I think your soft heart will break over it.”</p><p>Olenna has always, <em> always </em> seen straight to the core of him.</p>
<hr/><p>As he’s leaving Olenna’s solar and exiting the castle, Jaime has the <em> great </em> misfortune of running into Randyll Tarly on one of the garden paths.</p><p>“Ser Jaime,” he says, but somehow the title sounds like an insult.</p><p>“Lord Tarly,” Jaime grins and makes an effort to sound extra flippant, “I was discussing your qualities with Lady Olenna. Did your burning ears lead you here?”</p><p>Tarly doesn’t smile, and he <em> certainly </em> doesn’t laugh. “Not everyone has the luxury of cavorting about drinking and reveling; some of us have a duty. I’m on my way to see Lord Renly to discuss one of the... <em> soldiers </em> in his company.”</p><p><em> Soldiers, not ‘men.’ </em> The wise course is to leave well-enough alone; whatever Tarly will say to Renly about Brienne, there’s nothing Jaime could interject that will help the situation. Brienne also won’t appreciate the meddling.</p><p>Nevertheless, Jaime follows Tarly when he starts walking, “Do you mean Lady Brienne?”</p><p>Tarly stops mid-step, “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern, ser.”</p><p>“It’s…” Not<em>, </em>but it <em>is. </em>“You were unfair to Lady Brienne; I’ll not allow it again.”</p><p><em> “Allow? </em> You have no authority here, and no amount of Lannister coin will change that. The woman is a disgrace--a <em> distraction.” </em></p><p><em> The Seven take everyone and their godsdamned wagging tongues. </em> “Only because <em> you’re </em> a poor commander who lets his men act like pigs.”</p><p>Tarly raises his voice, “I’ll not have my men gossiping like washerwomen just because <em> you </em> decided to make that beast of a woman your whore.”</p><p>Jaime’s mild irritation shifts to rage, “Say that about a highborn lady again and see what happens.”</p><p>“It’s the <em> truth. </em> A woman has no place in an army camp, and it’s time Lord Renly stopped letting the farce continue. If you have a shred of honor, you’ll marry her and show her a woman's place.”</p><p>“Her place,” Jaime grinds out the words, “is wherever she desires to be.”</p><p>“Her place,” Tarly answers, “is silent in a castle keep. If you wed her, make that known in the marriage bed. Take your rights as husband and make her give you sons.”</p><p>The force of the punch runs down Jaime’s arm, and he’s moving before he even realizes it. He could no more stop his fist from smashing into Tarly’s face than he could’ve stopped himself from slitting the Mad King’s throat. </p><p>There's a sickening, <em> satisfying </em> crunch, and Tarly is sent sprawling into a rosebush.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next chapter, Jaime and Brienne have an argument that leads to a questionable use of table. 😏</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Brienne VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“I can’t kiss you when you’re angry. I don’t want that to become what we do when we’re upset.”</p><p>“Y-You’re right.” She doesn’t want that, either.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to aliveanddrunkonsunlight for helping with this chapter! It's much improved after her comments.</p><p>The warnings for this chapter are the same as the last--some discussion of the bet and of Tarly being a piece of shit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you think the color suits me?”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t know how to answer Margaery’s question. Every silk and velvet looks resplendent on her. It seems absurd that Margaery is asking <em> anyone </em> for an opinion, let alone <em> her. </em> The only thing Brienne knows about gowns is all the ways she doesn’t suit them. </p><p>“Lady Brienne, are you not well?”</p><p>“Oh,” she shakes her head to clear her thoughts, then decides to tell Margaery the truth. “I...I think every color suits you, and they’d all make lovely dresses.”</p><p>Margaery’s cheeks redden just a bit; it’s a delicate reaction, and so unlike Brienne’s own mottled blush. “I don’t think I need <em> all </em> of them.”</p><p>“Is necessity usually a consideration?”</p><p>“I don’t think the highborn should be excessive,” she replies. “There’s an appearance our status demands, but we shouldn’t forget we’re responsible for the smallfolk.”</p><p><em> Our. </em> Sometimes, Brienne tries to forget that her station isn’t so different from Margaery’s. She's the heir to her house, and a poor one at that. If she were Galladon, things would be simpler. If she were fair and ladylike as Margaery is, things would be much, <em> much </em>simpler. </p><p><em> But would I be happy? </em> </p><p>“My lord father feels that way,” Brienne finds herself smiling, “Tarth is beautiful, but remote. We can’t afford too much excess.”</p><p>It’s an amusing image--touring Evenfall with Margaery. Her father would be shocked to see her with a female friend. There were no girls her age at Evenfall. The thought of going home makes Brienne’s chest ache; she can’t face her father yet.</p><p>“Tell me about the weather in the Stormlands,” Margaery comes to sit beside her on the sofa. “We’ll let that decide my wardrobe. Lord Renly doesn’t pay attention to these sorts of things.”</p><p>“Colder and damper. The rains come in the winter, but there’s little snow. The winds off Shipbreaker Bay can be quite fierce, and the weather changes quickly.”</p><p>Margaery smiles, “I should like to see your island.”</p><p>“I’d like that, too, Lady Margaery.”</p><p>“Please, just call me Margaery.”</p><p>“Brienne suits me fine, too, then. I make a poor lady.”</p><p>“There’s no such thing.”</p><p>“That’s not what I’ve been told.” Brienne looks at her hands; they’re not dainty, but she’s strong, even if others don’t recognize it. There’s <em> surely </em> things that only she can do. “It’s fine, though. I don’t need to be a lady.”</p><p>“Jaime surely treats you as a lady,” Margaery’s smile shifts to a sly one. “He’ll face Grandmother’s ire if he doesn’t.”</p><p>Brienne’s first instinct is to downplay the nature of her relationship with Jaime. It’s inappropriate, and certainly not something a highborn lady should be flaunting. Nothing about Jaime’s behavior suggests he wishes to hide her, and for all his flippancy and sarcasm, she’s certain he’s never lied.</p><p>“Ser Jaime is…” She tries to find the correct word, but all the stalling accomplishes is making her ears heat. “...He’s kind. I’m not sure I’ve earned such treatment.”</p><p>Margaery takes her hands, “He can be quite galliant when he wishes. Jaime is the kind of knight a lady might dream of in her girlhood. I certainly used to.”</p><p>“R-Really?”</p><p>“Of course. Jaime would come to Highgarden with tales of adventure. We didn’t see him that often, so Loras and I used to follow him around and demand stories. We must’ve been quite bothersome.”</p><p>The image of a much younger Margaery and Loras crowded around Jaime listening to his tales is a sweet one. <em> Of course Jaime would be doting. </em> Then, Brienne thinks of all the wild rumors around Jaime.</p><p>“Do you think he ever...exaggerated?”</p><p>“Oh, certainly,” Margaery laughs, “All the stories were <em> quite </em> dramatically paced.”</p><p>“Ser Jaime does seem to have a flair for that.” </p><p>Margaery lowers her voice a fraction, “He’s alone in all his stories. Each time he’d visit, Grandmother would tell him to stay. She’d never admit it outright, but she misses and worries for Jaime.”</p><p>“Do you worry for him?”</p><p>“Certainly. He always seems a bit lost. Grandmother wanted me to wed Jaime; she thought it would make me happy, and it would keep him at home.”</p><p>Brienne remembers watching Jaime and Margaery dance; it was, undeniably, a lovely image. It would be a good match--advantageous to both houses, just as much as wedding Renly. “Did you not wish to?”</p><p>“When I was a girl, perhaps,” Margaery’s cheeks color again. “I think Loras and I both were a bit enamored with him. He’d be a kind, honorable husband, but Jaime will never see me as more than a girl. He’s a brother to me, and like all my brothers, I’ll do what I can to aid his happiness.”</p><p><em>Loras.</em> <em>Is Margaery so selfless? </em>Olenna certainly raised shrewd, cunning children. “That’s why you agreed to marry Renly.” </p><p>Hopefully, Margaery won’t think she overstepped. </p><p>“Somewhat,” Margaery nods, “I’m sure Jaime has told you--Loras loves Renly. I can keep them together and marry a man who sees me as a partner. The three of us are in agreement. Grandmother let her feelings interfere, and the Seven take me if I utter that within earshot of her.”</p><p>“I...can’t imagine Lady Olenna falling prey to sentiment.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised; I chose a husband using the lessons she taught me. Father is content with the match, and the parts he isn’t aware of won’t hurt him.”</p><p>Brienne finds the arrangement a bit sad, despite it being much better than any of her three matches would’ve turned out. It’s surely Jaime’s influence that makes her ask the next question. Before arriving at Highgarden, the concept of reciprocated feelings was as elusive and removed from Brienne as knighthood.</p><p>“Love can grow between two people,” Brienne takes her voice down to a whisper, “but Renly will never see you that way.”</p><p>“You sound like Jaime, which makes you the best match for him.” </p><p><em> Surely, there’s a better match. </em> Believing Margaery would be sweet; Brienne <em> wants </em> it to be true. “I’m only here for another fortnight.” </p><p>“You sound like you’re grieving the idea of parting from him,” she squeezes Brienne’s hands, “Love isn’t the only reason to marry. For Jaime, though, it’s like air and water.”</p>
<hr/><p>Brienne is still with Margaery when a runner tells her that Renly wishes to see her. She bids Margaery farewell, and lets the girl lead her down the hall and around a corner or two to Renly’s solar. She hasn’t been alone with Renly since she knelt before him at Storm’s End. This time, Brienne doesn’t kneel, but she does bow. Renly is seated in an ornate chair near the darkened fireplace; she can’t help but think, as she did when he visited Tarth, that he appears every inch the part of an honorable lord. </p><p>Beside him, in a much less ornate chair, sit Randyll Tarly, clutching a bloody handkerchief to his nose. Brienne can’t help but look for a moment too long at the sight.</p><p>“Lady Brienne,” Renly doesn’t seem to pay Tarly any mind, “It was good of you to come so quickly when summoned.”</p><p>“I--I’m ever at your service, my lord.”</p><p>“And you’ve served me well, my lady. Your father's commendations of you were true.”</p><p><em> I haven’t done anything, </em> Brienne wants to yell, <em> You have no idea what I’m capable of. </em></p><p>“Thank you, my lord,” she says instead, “I hope to continue to serve you well in the future.”</p><p>The words feel a bit hollow, but Brienne is still grateful for the opportunity. Renly smiles, but it’s capricious and has none of Jaime’s warmth. Brienne has no idea what lies behind it. She doesn’t know anything about Renly Baratheon at all. </p><p>Hopefully, Margaery does.</p><p>“That’s actually why I wanted to speak with you today. Lord Tarly arrived just a while ago, and he apprised me of the happenings in my camp since we arrived at Highgarden.”</p><p>A knot of dread settles in Brienne’s stomach. Before Renly can continue, she blurts, “If you’d allow me the chance to explain--”</p><p>“I believe I did that sufficiently enough that you’ve nothing to add,” Tarly interjects. His voice is a bit muffled by the handkerchief.</p><p>Brienne doesn’t <em> care, </em> necessarily, about the injury, but she is curious, “Lord Tarly, what <em> happened-- </em>”</p><p>“Your Kingslayer <em> punched me,” </em>Tarly hisses.</p><p>All the blood drains from Brienne’s face, “Jaime <em> what?” </em></p><p>“I reminded him of his duty, and he attacked me.”</p><p>“Jaime wouldn’t--”</p><p>Tarly pulls the cloth away from his face; both of his eyes are starting to blacken. “I told him he needed to show you your place.”</p><p>Renly holds up a hand to silence them; both of them have no choice but to obey. “That’s not what we’re here to discuss. Tell me, Lady Brienne, how has your time amongst my men been?”</p><p>“Well enough,” she lies. The prudent course would seem to be to minimize her discomforts, but Brienne finds that she’s had her fill of it. “Except that your men behave without honor or common decency.”</p><p>“They’re ruffians and hedge knights,” Renly says the words like they leave a bad taste in his mouth, “I was told of the bet and the other slights against your honor.”</p><p>The shame of Renly knowing those things feels like a punch, but her pride won’t allow her to break eye contact. “Then you should see their behavior needs to be addressed.”</p><p>“I’m not sure there’s any point. When Lord Selwyn wrote asking me to take you into my service, I’m certain he didn’t intend for you to leave Storm’s End.”</p><p>Renly’s words aren’t a surprise; Brienne was almost convinced of the same. “Well, it’s what <em> I </em>intended, my lord.” </p><p>“You’ve had your adventure, Lady Brienne. You traveled across Westeros and won a tourney melee. Hasn’t that been enough for a highborn girl?”</p><p>Brienne answers honestly, “No.”</p><p>“You should leave the girl here,” Tarly interjects.</p><p>Renly sighs, “I’ll not leave you stranded here. You may accompany us back to Storm’s End, but then you should return to Tarth. I’m sure your father misses you.”</p><p>“I don’t wish to return to Tarth.” It’s partially the truth; what she wants is the impossible--to be a knight.</p><p>“Then perhaps you can become one of Lady Margaery’s ladies-in-waiting. She told me the two of you have become friends.”</p><p>Brienne hangs her head. Margaery was lovely, but Brienne doesn’t want to spend her days in spaces that make her feel awkward and of no use.</p><p>“We have, my lord. Your lady wife has been a most gracious host.” Even awful Septa Roelle would be proud of that line.</p><p>“I’ve also heard Ser Jaime is courting you,” Renly grins at her, and Brienne <em> thinks </em> it might be genuine. Renly politely <em> doesn’t </em> mention the <em> other </em> things he’s probably heard. “Don’t you want to honor Lord Selwyn by marrying well? Although, depending on your father’s opinion of the Kingslayer, Ser Jaime may or may not be a suitable match.”</p>
<hr/><p>Brienne flees Renly’s solar.</p><p>Jaime is waiting for her in the corridor. He’s pacing the floor and wringing his hands. Brienne can’t tell the expression on his face because his head is bowed, but she also doesn’t care to see it. In fact, she walks right past Jaime, head held high and fists clenched. Brienne’s blood pounds in her ears, Renly’s words echoing on repeat.</p><p>
  <em> You’ve had enough of playing, haven’t you?  </em>
</p><p>The footsteps behind her get closer. Brienne stops at the end of the hall and turns on her heel to find Jaime tailing her a few places back. When she stops, he does, too.</p><p>“Ser,” Brienne calls out, “Stop following me.”</p><p>A knight. <em> Ser. </em> The title that Jaime has and Brienne will never. She had a guard posting; she had someone who was willing to accept her sword and offered her a seat at his table. And now, she has…</p><p>
  <em> Nothing. </em>
</p><p>“Oh, I’m <em> ser, </em>now,” Jaime calls into the distance between them, “You certainly didn’t call me that in bed last night.”</p><p>Brienne screws her eyes shut, “D-Don’t talk about it so openly.”</p><p><em> “Why?” </em> he shouts, “everyone <em> clearly </em> already knows.”</p><p>“That I’m your whore?” Brienne starts walking before Jaime can respond.</p><p>He starts following her again immediately, so Brienne speeds up. His legs are long, so he matches her pace within a few strides. “Where are you going?”</p><p>“To the armory.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Brienne whips around again, but doesn’t look at Jaime’s face. She <em> can’t. </em> The emotion there, whatever is it, might unmake her. Her pride is the only thing she retains, the only thing that can’t be taken from her. </p><p>“To pummel a practice dummy with a sword until I…until I’m calmer.”</p><p>“I’ll spar with you,” Jaime offers, “It’s better than swinging at straw.”</p><p>“Not...right now.”</p><p>“I’m not leaving you alone, Brienne.” </p><p>Even though she’s wounded and aching, the obvious caring in Jaime’s tone breaches her defenses. <em> “Fine. </em>Just...don’t speak for a bit.”</p><p>Jaime nods and follows her the rest of the way. Brienne discovered the space a few days ago when she <em> finally </em> had a moment to explore the castle. This armory is much better equipped than the one near where Renly’s men are camped. She finds a blunted tourney sword and makes her way into the practice yard.</p><p>The space is empty, which means Brienne can take her rage out in privacy. She strikes at the straw again and again, each hit growing more furious. If the dummy were a man, she’d have turned him to mince. Sweat starts to run down her back, and her arms start to tire, but Brienne keeps going.</p><p>“I’m <em> so </em> fucking <em> tired.” </em> Brienne strikes the dummy again. “I...I know I can’t be a knight, and I <em> hate </em>it. Why can’t I just be left in peace? I’d have been h-happy serving Renly, but they couldn’t even let me have that. I didn’t ask to have to sleep with my sword, or to be k-kissed, or bet upon.”</p><p>“Brienne.”</p><p>Jaime’s voice stops her mid-strike; she turns to find him striding toward her. He takes the sword from her hand. When he reaches up to cup her cheek, his fingers slip through her tears. Brienne didn’t even realize she was crying.</p><p>She’s so <em> angry-- </em> at Randyll Tarly, at Hyle Hunt and Ronnet Connington. Every past injustice exists simultaneously in her mind. “I’m <em> angry.” </em></p><p>“I know,” Jaime replies, “At me?”</p><p><em> “I don’t know.</em>”</p><p>Brienne doesn’t wait for Jaime’s explanation; instead, she crashes her mouth against his.</p>
<hr/><p>Their first casualty is a rack of halberds near the center of the room; the clang when they hit the stone floor is deafening, but neither of them pay it any mind. They’ve never kissed like this--hard and furious and without the usual gentleness. Jaime seems taken aback at first, but when Brienne tugs his bottom lip between her teeth, he gives a low groan and yields to her. He grabs the back of her shirt where it’s damp with sweat, and Brienne pushes him forward.</p><p>They bump into a table where an assortment of armor is spread out, but only one or two pieces clatter to the floor. </p><p>“B-Brienne,” Jaime whispers into her mouth, breath hot against hers, “Stop.”</p><p>The word makes Brienne feel like Jaime punched her in the gut; she takes her hand off the back of his neck and removes the other from his waist. She’s about to step away fully when Jaime leans against the table and hooks his ankle around her calf to keep her close.</p><p>“I-I’m sorry--”</p><p>Jaime throws his arms around her neck and buries his face into her shoulder. Brienne’s hands hang at her side uselessly. He’s breathing hard, and she doesn’t know what to do.</p><p>“You’re hurt,” he whispers, “and I understand. It’s unfair. I understand why you kissed me--you want an outlet, one that’s not made of straw, one that will <em> react </em>and push back.”</p><p>Brienne stays silent, heart hammering in her chest.</p><p>“I can’t kiss you when you’re angry. I don’t want that to become what we do when we’re upset.”</p><p>“Y-You’re right.” She doesn’t want that, either.</p><p>“Can I speak my mind, or would you like me to actually leave you be for a while?”</p><p>“Go ahead.” Brienne moves her arms so she’s holding Jaime in return. He relaxes in her embrace, and it makes Brienne’s heart clench.</p><p>“Tarly <em> did </em> insult you, but that’s not why I punched him. I know you’ve the skill to defend yourself and don’t need a protector. I quite enjoy standing up for you, but serving Renly is important to you, so I tried to hold my tongue.”</p><p>“Then why?”</p><p>“He told me to teach you a lesson--to wed you and force my rights as husband onto you.” A shiver passes through Jaime. “He told me to rape you to teach you a lesson about a woman’s place.”</p><p><em> “Oh.” </em>Brienne replies; suddenly, the armory feels chilly.</p><p>“I couldn’t abide that he would <em> suggest </em> that--”  </p><p>Jaime told her about when he was in the Kingsguard, and he used to stand outside the queen’s chambers, listening to her pleas and being unable to help. He’d looked at Brienne like she had the power to forgive him, but there was nothing to forgive.</p><p>“You’d never hurt me.” Tarly’s word are so opposite of everything she knows Jaime to be.</p><p>“Well,” Jaime tries to sound flippant. “You’d win in a tussle, as we’ve proven.”</p><p>“That has <em> no </em> bearing on why you wouldn’t.”</p><p>“None at all,” Jaime agrees.</p><p>“If I’m no longer angry, may I kiss you?” Brienne hopes the dim lighting hides her blush.</p><p>Jaime smiles, “If it pleases you.”</p><p>Brienne tries to make the kiss everything the last one wasn’t, every good feeling she’s learned that comes along with kissing Jaime. She’s grown bolder, steadier in her delivery, and Jaime clings to her like she’s weakened his knees. The reaction makes her smile against his lips.</p><p>When they part, Jaime tilts his chin the fraction needed to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry you were dismissed from Renly’s guard; you shouldn’t be punished for the behavior of others. Brienne, there’s better for you in this world than sleeping with your sword and listening to cunts debase you for being a woman and being <em> better. </em> You’re more than a mummer’s novelty, and Renly Baratheon doesn’t see it.”</p><p>“I swore a knight’s oath, Jaime.” </p><p>“You’ve been freed from it. Consider it a blessing that it happened before you entangled yourself further.”</p><p>“Have you sworn off oaths?”</p><p>“I’m just choosy now,” he chuckles, “When you pledged your blade to Renly, did he not swear an oath to you in return?”</p><p>“That I would always have a place at his hearth, and that he’d ask no service that would bring me dishonor.”</p><p>“Did serving Renly bring you honor? Did he give a single shit about that?”</p><p>Brienne’s eyes burn at the last bit of her dream crumbling. Even if it wasn’t as she thought it was, it was the path she chose for herself. “N-no.”</p><p>“Then <em> fuck him. </em>Find a better dream, a better oath to swear if it suits you.”</p><p>“Who would have a woman?”</p><p>“With a few years’ experience, you’d make a fine master-at-arms at Casterly Rock.” Jaime’s tone slips lower, and he presses his lips to hers once more. “That’s not <em> really </em> what I want from you, though.” </p><p>“I’d say yes.”</p><p>Jaime goes very still in her arms, and he ducks his head to hide his expression. “Brienne, I think that I--” She hears him draw a deep breath. When he speaks again, his tone is normal. “I think I want to fuck you on this table.”</p><p>Like striking flint over kindling, Brienne blazes with a matching want. “We’ll have to be quiet.”</p><p>Jaime sweeps his arm across the table, and the assorted pieces of armor on the table clatter to the floor.</p><p>“So much for quiet,” he says.</p><p>Brienne sighs, “And who’s fault is it if half the castle hears?” </p><p>“Yours, hopefully soon.”</p><p>There’s a scolding on the tip of Brienne’s tongue, but Jaime moves to stand behind her, pulling her close, and whatever she intended to say vanishes like smoke. He rests his hand on her stomach, voice hot in her ear.</p><p>“How do you want to take my cock, sweetling?”</p><p>A shiver passes through Brienne. She always found the courser language of the men in camp revolting, but Jaime’s way of combining endearments with filthy suggestions is startlingly effective.  </p><p>“Um,” she answers, not really knowing. Jaime passes the time working his fingers under the laces of her breeches. She’s long passed any mortification at how wet Jaime finds her. The feeling of Jaime pressed behind her gives Brienne an idea. If she were bolder, she could find the words to make her request. Instead, she walks him forward and puts her hands on the table leaning over it. <em> He’ll think me a wanton. </em></p><p>Jaime only ever seems thrilled when she suggests things. He laughs and kisses her and tells her she’s <em> good. </em></p><p> “Could we...”</p><p>“I <em> knew </em> you had a wicked streak,” Jaime laughs, and it makes the hairs of the back of her neck stand up. “I just had to earn the sight of it.”</p><p>“Does wanting something make you wicked?” </p><p>His fingers are fully inside her breeches now; Jaime gathers her wetness and starts a circling motion that he’s learned she finds particularly maddening.</p><p>“That might depend on who you ask. <em> I </em> think that no matter what you want,” Jaime slides two fingers into her cunt and curls them forward, “that you’re very, <em> very </em> good.”</p><p>
  <em> “Jaime.” </em>
</p><p>“I’ll give you anything you ask, my lady.”</p><p>
  <em> “Fuck me.” </em>
</p><p>Brienne’s <em> never </em> said anything so explicit and is glad her face is hidden from view. Jaime laughs, but there’s only affection in the sound. He moves away, but returns to her seconds later to finish pushing down her breeches and smallclothes. Then, he enters her--one hard stroke that knocks Brienne off-balance and makes her slide forward on the table. With the table flush against the wall, there’s nowhere to hold, so her hands slip against the wood as Jaime thrusts. Unconsciously, she pushes her hips back against his, angling herself to try and take him deeper. </p><p>“So eager,” Jaime teases. His voice sounds ragged, and his grip on her hips tightens at the end of each stroke. <em> “Gods, </em>you feel good.”</p><p>There’s always a heady rush at the idea that Jaime’s composure is unraveling because of her actions and her body. It shows on Jaime’s face when she sits astride him, but she is certain the expression exists now, too. Brienne only ever felt comfortable in her body when she was holding a sword, all too aware that her comfort brought the disdain of others. She could weather it for a sense of purpose, but in a tiny, tucked away corner of her heart, Brienne wished for something like <em> this. </em></p><p>Jaime grunts as he collapses on top of her and stills; after a moment, he pushes his hips against hers. “I’m not finished with you, don’t worry.”</p><p>“I didn’t speak a word, ser.”</p><p>Jaime laughs, clearly delighted. The next series of thrusts are so intense that Brienne’s toes curl in her boots and she whimpers. She pushes herself up on her elbows; the weight of Jaime on her back is nothing. Jaime fumbles for her hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing.</p><p>“Together?” Jaime whispers into her ear.</p><p>Brienne nods, freeing one of her hands to slip between her thighs. She doesn’t <em> need </em> Jaime to climax, although she’s found that lately she much prefers his touch to her own. Her fingers slp against her wetness and brush against Jaime’s cock where they’re connected; Jaime groans into her ear. When he spills into her, the feeling, combined with her own to touch, sends Brienne over with him.</p><p><em> “Seven hells.” </em> Brienne collapses to the table and rests her forehead against the wood. Jaime slumps against her, and she realizes he must’ve been holding himself up before. The dead weight of him is something she can bear, but Jaime <em> is </em> heavy. </p><p>“Brienne,” Jaime rubs his nose against the damp hair at the back of her neck. When he continues, his voice has an undertone of panic Brienne doesn’t understand. “I think that I--”</p><p>“Yes, Jaime?”</p><p>“Stay at Highgarden with me,” he blurts the words with no pause between them. “I...I know I had a part in why you aren’t serving Renly anymore, but I <em> swear </em> it wasn’t to keep you here.”</p><p>“I believe you.” Jaime wouldn’t sabotage her; since they first met, he’d always been cheering for her. The favor, all the times he sparred with her and encouraged her to chase what she wanted. Brienne would be happy, <em> lucky, </em> to have someone like Jaime beside her, to <em> love </em> someone like that. It would be foolish to run from the feeling. “You truly wish me to remain?” </p><p>“I do.” It feels like Jaime is trying to hide his face in her hair, “I thought you might’ve decided to go home to Tarth.”</p><p>She hesitates, not quite ready to say her heart, “There’s little for me on Tarth at present, and I’m not ready to face my father.”</p><p>Jaime chuckles, “I’ve been saying that for fifteen years.”</p><p>“Jaime, I’ll stay.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Jaime talks about Cersei and FINALLY asks Brienne an important question or two.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Jaime VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“You don’t have problems such as these, do you? No reputation to worry about, no feelings.”</p><p>Honor nickers and pushes his snout into Jaime’s hand.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can't believe there's only one chapter left after this! Thank you, again, to aliveanddrunkonsunlight for beta reading this chapter. ❤️</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You don’t have problems such as these, do you? No reputation to worry about, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Honor nickers and pushes his snout into Jaime’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, your only care in the world is where the next carrot or apple comes from.” That earns Jaime another, more insistent, push into his hand. He pulls a second carrot out of the satchel and holds it flat in his palm. “If there’s a mare you’re after, you mount her in the paddock and that’s the end of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only reply is the steady crunch of carrot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’ve listened to any number of my ramblings on the road, and while your advice is shit you’re a decent listener.” Jaime sighs, “I’m in love with Lady Brienne, and I can’t seem to be able to tell her. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> did the other day, but the moment was...inopportune.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honor nickers again. Jaime </span>
  <em>
    <span>swears </span>
  </em>
  <span>it sounds judgmental. He’s never had a horse that sounded judgmental. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine, if you can, if you decided to confess your feelings right </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> an incident in the paddock. Wholly inappropriate, but I haven’t found a good moment since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’d been moments where Jaime considered it over the last few days. Two nights ago, Brienne slept so close to him that she shared his pillow. Jaime stared at her sleeping peacefully and his heart ached so acutely with his feelings that he nearly shook her awake and confessed his heart. Then, that seemed an utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to do, so Jaime got as close to Brienne as he could and hoped his pounding heart wouldn’t wake her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t stir except to throw an arm over him, like her body yearned for him to be near, even in slumber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime nearly told her when they rode out into the hills beyond Highgarden to spar. They had a picnic. Brienne was more relaxed than he’d ever see her; she laughed quite openly at all his japes. Then, she kissed him and pushed him down into the grass. Jaime stared at the cornflower blue sky afterward and thought that he could spend every day for the rest of his life </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Jaime couldn’t make the words come out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked her to stay, and she said yes.” Jaime is out of carrots, so he moves on to brushing Honor’s coat. There’s a stableboy who could do the task, but despite his privileged upbringing, Jaime had grown used to doing everything for himself. “That’s better than nothing, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honor chuffs this time, and Jaime takes it as approval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brienne will be </span>
  <em>
    <span>happier</span>
  </em>
  <span> here; a lady deserves better than to be scorned by a cunt like Tarly or to swear herself to a conceited, foolish lord who doesn’t see her worth. Or am I just saying that because I’m selfish?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a sound--a door opening, and then laughter. Jaime drops the brush onto a barrel and turns to find that Loras has entered the stable. Loras has changed much since Jaime last saw him--Loras was a smug child, but actual tourney victories made it worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loras!” Jaime tries to sound supremely chipper, “Going for a ride?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Loras smirks, “I heard someone talking to himself and couldn’t resist peaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lovely.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime grins back, “How much of that did you hear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime reples, “Well, if you aim to make a jape at an old, lovesick fool, get on with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was only going to ask if you make a habit of talking so intimately to your horse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honor’s a better listener than most,” Jaime reaches to scratch his horse behind the ears. “And if you’re alone too long, you go mad without making conversation with </span>
  <em>
    <span>something. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I met an old man in the Summer Isles once who was stuck at sea and befriended a wooden bucket. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>swore</span>
  </em>
  <span> it talked back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loras snorts, “I’d forgotten about your ridiculous stories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You loved them a decade ago. In fact, even five years ago you and Margaery would come up to me and demand stories.” Loras is like Jaime was at sixteen, so he won’t appreciate being reminded of boyhood antics. “Do you remember acting them out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did no such thing,” Loras flushes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did,” Jaime grins even wider, “and now you’re a knight playing at bigger games.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re referring to tourney wins, they take </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> as much skill as--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Predictably, Loras takes his bait. Jaime would’ve too, so he starts laughing, “You think a silly game knights play for the amusement of lords is the same as war?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loras’s eyes burn with insolence, “I beat you in the joust.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Brienne beat you in the melee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was…” Loras goes quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tilt well,” Jaime agrees, “but what is victory against a man twice your age?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you not proud when you beat Ser Barristan Selmy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was seventeen and an egotistical idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loras’s features rearrange themselves into a scowl that’s nearly a pout. The expression is the same one he wore at age six when Lady Alerie scolded him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He's a child of summer who thinks he’s grown.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Loras stands there, thinking he’s not a green boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m as fine a swordsman as you, Jaime,” Loras crosses his arms,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But would you beat me in open combat?” Jaime counters, “Tell me, what use is jousting in a real battle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Renly trusts me to protect him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be young and praised for skill by someone he respects. Arthur Dayne made Jaime believe he was skilled enough to be the swordsman of a generation. Jaime was young and infatuated with the idea of glory. There was no man’s opinion that mattered to him more than Arthur Dayne’s. Loras was just the same--Renly had rested his blade on Loras’s shoulders, and Loras drank deep every word of praise from Renly’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime doesn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>imagine</span>
  </em>
  <span> what Arthur Dayne fucking him would’ve done to his hero worship. Nothing flattering, and Jaime would’ve been twice as crushed when the man fell from the pedestal Jaime raised him to.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want that for Loras, or for Margaery. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Their fates were bound together now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Jaime can’t stop himself from pressing at the chinks in Loras’s armor. “And </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you protect Renly from, exactly? Making poor sartorial choices? Too much revelry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t care for Renly,” Loras lowers his voice, “but I also know that Margaery </span>
  <em>
    <span>told</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, and you’ve held your tongue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand why he let Brienne into his service if he was going to treat her like a landless hedge knight.” His temper flares at the words, but he keeps it reigned in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Brienne </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> a knight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’d be a fine one, though. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne would be a truer knight than either Loras or himself--she was honorable to the point of detriment, and Jaime can’t imagine her falling prey to her own search for glory. Jaime imagines placing Brightroar on her shoulders, and suddenly, he wants to grant Brienne that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but she’s the sole daughter of a house sworn to Storm’s End. If Renly wasn’t willing to give a woman a position befitting her station as he would a man, he should’ve sent her back to her father.” Jaime is selfishly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>horribly</span>
  </em>
  <span> glad that Renly didn’t because he wouldn’t have met Brienne otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loras falls silent for a moment, and eventually says, “Renly allowed it because Brienne didn’t ask him for anything, and because he thought a woman in mail was amusing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime knew the truth already, but it still makes him angry to hear it. “That’s the sort of man you...” He can’t decade his next word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> and</span>
  <em>
    <span> fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> are not contenders, “You’ve sworn yourself to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any uncertainty lingering in Loras’s posture vanishes in a fit of indignance. “You don’t know him </span>
  <em>
    <span>at </span>
  </em>
  <span>all. You vanish for </span>
  <em>
    <span>years </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then return--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know Renly,” Jaime waves a dismissive hand, “but I know of your scheme with Margaery. If you’re discovered, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’ll </span>
  </em>
  <span>be the one who’s shamed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was Margaery’s idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime snorts, “Of course it was, and I’m sure you went along with it easily. Margaery is just like Olenna.” Loras and Margaery were inseparable as children, and Loras always went along with her schemes. The scene was always a kinder version of how he followed Cersei. To witness it hurt, but it also made Jaime happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Loras cracks a smile, “It was kind of my sister. I...I’m unsure how to repay her. On my honor as a knight, I’ll protect them both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arrangement is odd, but Jaime, for the first time, feels at peace with it. It’s good because there’s literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can do about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See that you do.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Half a sleepless night spent tossing and turning sends Jaime walking the darkened halls to Brienne’s door. He knocks softly, not wanting to alert the guards that are surely patrolling the halls. It’s damaging enough that everyone is gossiping about them, and Brienne’s bearing the brunt of it. Jaime won’t add to it by sauntering out her chamber at dawn like one of Robert’s whores.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t stop Jaime from going, but he tries to keep it clandestine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s proven to be a light sleeper, so she answers her door quickly enough. Jaime doesn’t like to dwell on why she jumps awake at the slightest sound. It will send him back to Randyll Tarly to do more than break his nose. It will send him to Renly’s camp with Brightroar drawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks sleep-mussed and sweet, barefoot and her hair in a scraggly braid. These intimate glimpses of Brienne make Jaime’s heart crawl into his throat. He opens his mouth to say something, </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but the only thing to say is that he loves her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you well?” Brienne whispers through the crack in the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I..I am,” Jaime isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> lying, “Would you believe me I said I couldn’t bear to be parted from you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you’d tell me anything if it meant I’d grant you entry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grin crosses Jaime’s face, unbidden, “You know me so well, my lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opens the door further, and Jaime enters the room. “You don’t have to woo me, Jaime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps not, but I do so enjoy it, especially now that there’s time aplenty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a tenuous thing, this agreement between them. Jaime asked her to stay; Brienne agreed, but what does she expect next? </span>
  <em>
    <span>A proposal? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne deserves it, but Jaime has the grim suspicion that she expects far less than she deserves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s still watching him, the candle in her hand the only light between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” Jaime continues, “there’s something I’ve been trying to say ever since that day in the armory. The words keep getting stuck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to talk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That it’s the darkest hours before dawn and Brienne is offering to lend her his ear. The tone in her voice is kind and receptive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not bothered by my intrusion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods, what do I even do with such kindness?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime sits on the edge of the bed, and Brienne places the candle on the bedside table before joining him. He takes a deep, steadying breath and wills himself to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember when I told you I loved someone long ago?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne nods, “Of course; that conversation wasn’t even a month ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Had it really been so little time? </span>
  </em>
  <span>It feels like an entire life has passed since he returned to Highgarden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime musters himself, “There’s been no one like her until </span>
  <em>
    <span>you. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I mean, the two of you couldn’t be more opposite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you still love her?” Brienne sounds completely neutral about the question, which doesn’t surprise Jaime. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> her to sound neutral about it, though--he wants her to be a bit worried, or jealous, at the thought of him loving another. Jaime wants Brienne to think of him as </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she just occupies a corner of my mind and probably always will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t...you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>owe </span>
  </em>
  <span>me your past, Jaime--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to tell you.” Suddenly, the words are bursting forth, “I want you to know, first, that I never loved her as I’ve come to love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaime--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds up his hand to halt Brienne. She’s close enough to touch, and Jaime can’t resist cradling her face in his hand, thumb drifting over her bottom lip. “Let me...let me get through this. The woman...it’s my sister. After I slew Aerys, I asked Cersei to run away with me. I offered to give up everything for her, but all she offered was keeping me as her dirty secret. She’d marry Robert, and I’d remain in the Kingsguard. She didn’t care about what I’d endured serving Aerys. I realized she only wanted me next to her so she could use me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne is silent for a time, but she raises her hand to cover Jaime’s and leans into his touch. The minute gesture makes his heart pound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fear I’m disgusted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fucked my sister, Brienne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did,” she answers, “but I don’t think we choose who we love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We choose how we act.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We do, and you’ve been nothing but honorable. I don’t know your sister, but I can see you hurt one another. Running away was surely easier for you than for her. It wasn’t fair, what your sister asked of you, but people are selfish when they want something. I...I understand that a bit, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brienne,” Jaime looks to her, “you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Cersei.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If she’s your twin, she must be beautiful,” Brienne glances downward, “but we’re both women, and if she desired to be the master of her own fate, then I understand that. I’m fortunate, in a way, to have been able to choose a sword over a marriage bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cersei would’ve picked up a sword if our father had let her. She always loved when we traded places for the day.” The memory makes Jaime smile, despite everything. “She’s a few moments older and always thought she should be recognized as the firstborn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanting to be a son…” she trails off, “I’ve tried to be what Galladon would’ve been, had he lived, but I’m not. I only want choices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Choices.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime’s a bit awed that Brienne found sympathy for Cersei so easily. He’d felt bitter towards her for fifteen years. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps I should be more charitable, too. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne told him about her brother one day when they were sparring. He felt her grief and the weight of her father’s inconsistent expectations for her. Jaime’s father had never seen Cersei’s potential beyond a good marriage. She’d be different if he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know the moment I realized my feelings? It was the moment I punched Tarly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne scrunches her face in confusion; it’s a sweet expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The cunt told me to hurt you,” Jaime explains, “intentionally and explicitly. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And...that’s love?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jame smiles, but Brienne isn’t looking at him. “I’d defend you to anyone--with my words or my sword. I want you to go as far as you desire; I’d only ask that you let me accompany you so I can witness it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You defended me when I couldn’t,” Brienne’s eyes flutter open, pale lashes against pale skin. “You encouraged me to prove myself. T-That day, in Lord Tarly’s tent, you said all the words that were stuck inside me. I was so mad, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ashamed</span>
  </em>
  <span> of what had been done to me, but I told him I’d change my behavior. That’s not what I wanted to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it’s not your fault, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> like it was, and that if I spoke up I’d ruin my only chance.” Brienne smiles, and she looks as Jaime thinks she ought--self-assured and stubborn. “There’s other chances for me. You made me realize I deserve more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ve done one noble deed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’ve done many and will surely do more, but I love you for that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Jaime’s turn to sound awed, “Wench, is that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> reason you love me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no,” Brienne flushes warmly under his hand, “there’s at least one or two more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could I perhaps coax you into telling me the others?”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Aside from Cersei, Jaime never has been around the same person long enough to earn the comfort he has with Brienne. His sister was always frantic and desperate, with never a moment to linger. Jaime hadn’t known any better at sixteen, but to subject himself to that for a lifetime would’ve been misery. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>None</span>
  </em>
  <span> of that matters. Jaime will thank whatever gods he needs to for the fact that Brienne is straddling him in the center of her bed. She’ll grace him with a kiss, hopefully momentarily, but until that moment she’s a pleasant weight. Her hands are on either side of his head, and she’s looking at him intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If someone told you,” Jaime says cheerfully, “weeks ago, when you arrived at Highgarden, that in a moon’s time you’d be straddling the Kingslayer in your bed, how would you have reacted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Madness.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet, here we are. You were so shy.” He slides his hand up her thigh, under her night shirt. “But you let me touch you, in this very spot. How bold you’ve grown since then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t let you best me,” she huffs, “And I...you </span>
  <em>
    <span>enjoy</span>
  </em>
  <span> this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do, sweetling.” Jaime grows impatient and pulls Brienne down into a kiss. She returns it with the sweet rapport that’s grown between them. “I’ve taken much pleasure in your confidence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your doing,” she murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not. Although, if I helped you find it, I suppose that’s another good deed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps that one is a bit selfish?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I've always been a bit covetous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s lips are wandering over his face, landing at his cheek and then his temple. Jaime is used to being the one to initiate their encounters, unless Brienne comes to him in a fit of passion. She’s forceful in those heated moments and often embarrassed after. Tonight, Brienne seems content to explore things slowly, and Jaime plans to delight in every breath of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her teasing is as gentle as it is relentless. Brienne watches him closely, just as she does when they’re sparring, until she learns to read Jaime’s tells. She’s a quick study with them, but Jaime is a much more transparent lover than a swordsman. He wants Brienne to read everything, to be able to communicate wordlessly through a touch or a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clothes are shed and a dozen, fleeting touches are traded between them. Brienne removes her nightshirt without any prompting; her confidence only makes him burn brighter and hotter for her. Naked and towering above him, every inch of her fills Jaime’s vision. The single candle on the bedside table gives just enough light that Brienne looks composed of marble. There’s a thousand ample-bosomed maids in Westeros, but Jaime’s never seen a woman like Brienne.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite the view,” Jaime rasps as he slides his hands up Brienne’s thighs to her hips. He wonders how long it will take him to grow accustomed to the sight of her. It would be lovely to always be so awed. “By the way, my lady, when did you stop wearing smallclothes to bed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been so focused by the rest of Brienne that he failed to notice the removal of the nightshirt left her totally bare. She gives him the most stern of scowls, and it makes Jaime laugh so raucously it moves her, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you hoping I’d come to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Brienne is a poor liar,” Jaime rolls her nipple between his finger and thumb, and Brienne lurches forward to plant her hands beside his head again. Her braid is nearly undone, so Jaime takes the chance to unravel it with the hand that isn’t caressing her. “You’d stay with me every night if we could get away with it, sweetling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I might,” she admits. Jaime isn’t sure if Brienne notices the motion, but she’s rocking herself against his cock, a gentle pressure through his breeches. Not a moment ago, he was desperate to have them off, but Jaime can delay it to watch Brienne take her own pleasure. “I don’t...I don’t like being called your wh--”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Her hair is unbound, and Jaime loops the fine, soft strands around his hand. “I mislike it, too. It’s unfair that I don’t earn the same scorn. The only way to fix it is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Marriage,” Brienne says the word like it’s a curse, and it makes Jaime’s heart sink a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime thinks of all the instances of Olenna insinuating or outright suggesting he wed Brienne. “Would...would you, if I asked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s expression splits into a delighted smile that Jaime is glad is reserved for him; she’d have lords lining up to inherit Tarth if she wielded it properly. “After my father’s last match for me, I’ll only marry a man who can beat me in combat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t realize our bouts were so fraught with peril for you,” Jaime laughs, “You haven’t won even once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Brienne doesn’t sound the slightest bit irritated, “Does that give you my answer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, wench, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaime tugs Brienne a bit nearer. “If I ask sweetly, will you fuck me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne rolls her eyes, but immediately moves her hands to the laces on Jaime breeches. When they’re banished to the floor, she sinks down onto his cock with an ease that would’ve been unimaginable a month ago. First, Jaime grabs Brienne’s hips in an effort to help her establish a rhythm, but he quickly realizes it’s not needed. In fact, Brienne takes his hands, tangles their fingers together, and pressed them against the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ah,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime tries to sound flippant, but Brienne’s cunt squeezing around him isn’t a flippant event. In fact, much like the look in her eyes, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite </span>
  </em>
  <span>serious. “I see how you mean for it to be this evening. I can behave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s skepticism in Brienne’s tone, but Jaime means to prove her wrong. She moves hips against his, setting a brisk pace that Jaime quickly decides is maddening. He wants to watch Brienne, but his eyes close of their own accord as he loses himself to the tide of movement between them. Even as Brienne winds him up, as the arc of her movement presses him into the mattress, Jaime doesn’t pull his hands from hers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” he gasps, “Model behavior.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne slows, then eventually halts, and frees one of her hands to cup his jaw. Jaime opens his eyes; her face is close, and all he can see are her eyes flickering in the light of the candle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> good for me, Jaime,” she whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the type of sentence he’s whispered in Brienne’s ear dozens of times, but having it turned on him makes Jaime scramble to get Brienne closer. Perhaps he wants to hear nice things tumble from Brienne’s lips, too. Maybe they could spend decades trading kindnesses. He might’ve laughed bitterly at a notion like that, once, but no longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweetling, keep talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne doesn’t say anything filthy, but her whispered dotings make him come, shaking around her, regardless. She follows him moments later, and endearingly collapses on him. When Jaime catches his breath, he rolls onto his side so Brienne is facing him. Jaime can’t stop himself from touching her, so he wraps an arm around Brienne and pulls her against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve nearly used the last of the moon tea.” Jaime can feel her lips brushing against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get more,” he offers, “Although, maybe not from the castle’s maester.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been wondering how that went.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime laughs at the memory, “He couldn’t understand why a man would come to procure moon tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As though you’ve no part in the consequences of not using it,” Brienne’s tone is clipped, and Jaime doesn’t blame her. “It was...surprising. I didn’t think </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> man would bother with moon tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most men weren’t raised by Olenna Tyrell,” Jaime says, “She would skin my hide if I did any less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lady Olenna </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> formidable. It seems wise to fear her a bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brienne,” Jaime isn’t sure how to phrase what he’s thinking, but he wants to say it, “I don’t ever want to be what takes a choice from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the third reason I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look forward to the rest of the enumerated list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Brienne falls asleep, Jaime devises a plan to give her yet another choice.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The next day, Jaime paces around Olenna’s solar in a fit of nervous energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaime,” Olenna snaps, “Sit down and explain yourself properly and </span>
  <em>
    <span>slowly.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As usual, when Olenna issues an edict, Jaime obeys. He collapses into a chair opposite her and crosses his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try again, but at a pace a reasonable person could follow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime tries not to let his chagrin show on his face. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> spent the first few minutes in Olenna’s solar babbling at her. “I want to make Brienne a knight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olenna gives her usual dry cackle, “I thought you meant to make Lady Brienne your bride.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime crosses his arms, “Can she not be both?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m certain a </span>
  <em>
    <span>knight</span>
  </em>
  <span> has never been a bride,” Olenna tilts her head to the side, “Unless you’re referring to yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> be both. She can be a knight and a bride and anything she wants. “You mock me, Olenna, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’ve come to like Brienne. She passes your inscrutable high standards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the girl. She’s got mettle, even though she’s far too kind for the world we live in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brienne would be a finer knight than me and every other knight put together.” Jaime doesn’t need his own glory--the Seven know his one infamous deed will carry him through until the Stranger sees fit to take him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Others won’t accept a woman as a knight, especially here in the Reach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will </span>
  <em>
    <span>you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything is better with a capable woman involved; I don’t see why knighthood can’t be improved upon in the same fashion.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next time, Brienne earns a shiny new title and a poor, unsuspecting piece of furniture meets its end.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Brienne VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ser Goodwin had laughed at Brienne’s stubborn demand that any future suitors after Humphrey Wagstaff be able to beat her in combat. He laughed even harder when Brienne’s father agreed out of what Brienne assumed was sheer exhausted frustration.</p><p><i>Well, Ser Goodwin, I found a man I can’t beat.</i> He might laugh at that, too.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I can't believe this is the last chapter. I love this fic, and I'm so moved by all the response it's gotten. Thank you for every single comment and kudos and story subscription. I hope you enjoy the last chapter!</p><p>Thank you, again, to aliveanddrunkonsunlight for beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ser Goodwin had laughed at Brienne’s stubborn demand that any future suitors after Humphrey Wagstaff be able to beat her in combat. He laughed even harder when Brienne’s father agreed out of what Brienne assumed was sheer exhausted frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, Ser Goodwin, I found a man I can’t beat. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He might laugh at that, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne also found a man who losing to doesn’t feel like a slight. She’s faced Jaime with a blade in her hand dozens of times over the past few weeks, and while Jaime is insufferable in his victories, he takes no pleasure in winning simply because he’s beating a woman. In contrast, Jaime guides her, offering suggestions on her form and techniques he’s picked up on his travels. Brienne feels like she learns something each time she loses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a nice idea that she has plenty of time to hone her skills; the victory, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span> it happens, will be sweet indeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne tries to guess at what her father might think should she bring Jaime home to Tarth. They’d come to an understanding, eventually, but there would surely be pitfalls along the way. Her father’s opinion of the stories of the Kingslayer always seemed veiled to Brienne as a girl. She can’t guess how he would react to meeting the man himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s quite a few sides to Jaime, but the one Brienne’s privy to now might be the one she’s most fond of--Jaime in repose, who clings to her in sleep and looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>impossibly </span>
  </em>
  <span>boyish. Brienne isn’t sure she’d admit it aloud, but it never occurred to her that a man would behave as Jaime does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Renly, in Brienne’s most illicit, inappropriate daydreams, didn’t sleep with his face smushed in the crook of her neck and his leg thrown over hers. There was no easy intimacy in her thoughts of Renly; Brienne never even considered how lovely that could feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renly feels like a girlish daydream, while Jaime...well, answering that she loved him was easy, and if he treats her as his wife as he has the last month, Brienne will be lucky indeed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the part she wishes she could show her father, even though she’s certain he wouldn’t approve of some of her behavior.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll have to write, eventually. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He isn’t expecting Brienne to return home anytime soon, but when Renly arrives back at Storm’s End, word that she isn’t with him will spread. Brienne is utterly failing at imagining the contents of the letter when Jaime wakes up. He stretches like a cat and it creates a tantalizing bit of friction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” Jaime purrs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I have an exceptionally vivid dream, or did you agree to marry me in the wee hours of the morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...may have done something like that,” Brienne replies, “or perhaps you dreamt it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never known you to be coy.” Jaime pushes himself up his elbow and grins. It's a bit blinding in the morning sun, to say nothing of the way the blankets slide off him. “Should I ask again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she looks at the ceiling as she speaks. “You...you </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, Jaime? We haven’t known one another that long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Many a man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> woman, have met their betrothed for the first time when they stepped into the sept.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne sighs, “That’s true, but it’s not what I asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m certain,” his hand finds her under the blankets, “but we needn’t wed, if you don’t wish it. I will stay, however you’ll have me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s unfair.” Brienne squeezes Jaime’s hand and thinks of what Margaery told her about being a good match for Jaime. “It’s not what you deserve.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You turn my words on me, wench.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Brienne is looking at Jaime grinning above her instead of the ceiling. He hovers for a moment before kissing her. Brienne slides her other hand into his hair, and they linger like that for a time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss is lovely, but practical considerations start appearing in Brienne’s mind. “Jaime...where will we live?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to remain here for a while, but after...if Tarth suits you, we’ll go to Tarth. Or King’s Landing. Or Oldtown.” Jaime pauses, “I’d even...I’d even take Casterly Rock if you desire to be the lady of a castle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrinkles her nose like a ripe smell passed through the air. “I’m heir to a castle already, ser. If Evenfall looms over me as it does, Casterly Rock must be worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ever does it loom. I’ve never wanted it--my brother should be my father’s heir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is your father angry at your absence?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime laughs, “Certainly, but his long gaze can’t find me here. Is your father kinder than mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My father is an honorable man, but he…” Brienne falters, “I feel as though he’s given up on me. I...I want to take you to Tarth, but it need not be soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> permission for your hand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’ll write to him, but...after. This is my choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Jaime leans closer to Brienne again and brushes his nose against hers. “I’m quite fond of being your choice.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Margaery goes up on her toes to kiss Jaime on the cheek. He wraps both arms around her waist and lifts her off the ground, squeezing tighter before returning her to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Be good," Margaery says to Jaime, so quiet that Brienne almost doesn't catch the words. "Brienne and Grandmother will report to me if you're not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shouldn't I be the one saying that to you?" Jaime teases, "You're practically a girl, and you're going quite far away."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You left home earlier, and I'm at least twice as smart as you are."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime hugs her one final time before placing his hands on Margaery's shoulders and surveying her. "Don't get </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> bigger, and take care of Loras. Don't let Renly boss you around."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renly is lingering near the coach that will carry the three of them, talking with Loras. Jaime glares at the two of them, but neither notice. Margaery </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> sees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I always have," Margaery giggles, then sobers, "And the two of you take care of one another, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We will," Jaime says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery turns to Brienne, and Jaime moves to say farewell to Loras. Brienne sees them clasp hands, a bit stiffly, but can't make out their words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne isn't sure what to do, but Margaery embraces her before any awkwardness comes between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have a safe journey," Brienne says, "You'll like Storm's End."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you. I was...I am trying to be strong about it, to be what I need to be, but I'm sad to leave home. Your stories and your friendship over the past few weeks were such a kindness."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne returns the embrace. Margaery is so slight in her arms, but she's clever and bearing burdens that would take Brienne under.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Come to Tarth," Brienne says, "My father would be honored to host you. Maybe happier than he will be to see me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I won't go until you and Jaime are there," Margaery rises to her toes and kisses Brienne's cheek. "I know I said to take care of one another, but take </span>
  <em>
    <span>extra</span>
  </em>
  <span> care of Jaime."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Margaery looks a bit misty-eyed, and Brienne feels a matching burning behind her own. She wishes there was more she could say because Margaery made her feel at home in a space where no one ever had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll do my best."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good," Margaery smiles, "We should set out. It will take half the day to get outside the castle walls with a procession like this." She turns to Loras and Renly, "Loras, my lord husband. Come along."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Loras and Renly listen. When the coach starts moving, Jaime wraps his arm around Brienne's shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think they'll manage."</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>A few days later,  Jaime is at her chamber door again, at a respectable daylight hour this time. Brienne spent the morning wandering the gardens and trying to picture herself staying at Highgarden for a prolonged period of time. There’s a half-written letter to her father on the desk in her room, and Brienne knows she’ll discard that draft, just as she had the past half-dozen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know, wench, that any knight can make a knight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Brienne replies. As a girl, she’d read everything she could about becoming a knight to see if perhaps there was some loophole or story where a woman had been granted the status.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she’d been disappointed at the end of that search.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continues, “A king or a lord can also grant the status. When I was a lad, I always dreamed of being knighted after a great battle. It seemed very heroic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it?” Brienne tries not to sound envious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the time, yes.” Jaime holds out his arm to her, and Brienne notices Brightroar strapped across his back. “Would you come with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He doesn’t carry the sword around.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The only times Brienne saw Jaime with Brightroar was when he let her wield it. Those were exhilarating moments; she’d never beheld a blade so fine, let alone been allowed to use it. It made Brienne feel like a child touching a toy she ought not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne takes his arm. Highgarden is large enough that she still gets turned around if she diverts from the routes she knows. Jaime, growing up here, never seems to have any such hardship. Somehow, he can distinguish one marble column from another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is our destination?” she asks when they’ve rounded a few identical corners.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A garden,” Jaime answers vaguely, “probably not one you’ve visited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime is right; the courtyard garden they exit the castle into isn’t one Brienne has seen. It resembles so many of the others, with it’s high hedgerows and blooming summer flowers in a rainbow of colors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always favored this one,” Jaime glances around, “I used to hide here from lessons with the maester. It was successful a few times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had a place like that at Evenfall, near the kitchen gardens. I’d climb an oak, and in the summer the leaves were so thick I couldn’t be seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image of Brienne, a decade ago, scaling a tree, must be amusing because Jaime laughs. It is an unburdened sound, and Brienne finds that she loves to hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come a bit further in.” Jaime tugs her into the hedges. Unlike the larger maze that surrounds the keep, the soft grass lining the ground is untrampled. He pulls her along until the door they exited the castle from is obscured. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the flowers, “It’s lovely, but why--?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is the story of when I was knighted still told?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She digs through her memory, feeling like it </span>
  <em>
    <span>must’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> been touched upon by one of the singers who visited Tarth. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or, perhaps only the kingslaying mattered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ser Arthur Dayne,” Brienne says, eventually, “You fought in the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime smirks, “Were you, perhaps, fond of me before we met?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I just--</span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an old wooden bench nestled among the hedges nearby, so Jaime leans Brightroar against the arm before sitting and stretching his arms across the back. There’s a ray of sun landing perfectly on his golden hair, and something so flattering </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> happen to someone like Jaime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> battle. I crossed blades with the Smiling Knight; although it was Arthur Dayne who slew him. He knighted me on the spot for my valor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wistfully, Brienne says from a few paces away, “That must’ve been wonderful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was,” Jaime agrees, “I was fifteen, and Arthur Dayne was...he was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hero.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Larger than life, and, to me, everything a knight should be. From the moment he touched Dawn to my shoulders, I worshipped him. I joined the Kingsguard for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the stories paint him as honorable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much more so than they do me,” Jaime’s chuckle is laced with bitterness, “You know that Loras reminds me of myself, don’t you? Renly isn’t half the man, but Loras has a very </span>
  <em>
    <span>familiar</span>
  </em>
  <span> brand of hero worship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne thinks of the relationship between Loras and Renly and her own unrequited feelings. “Wait,” she blurts, “were you and Arthur Dayne--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime dissolves into a fit of laughter, all trace of bitterness gone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“No, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but if he asked, I’m certain I would’ve let him. When you’re young, and you admire someone so much, their suggestions are powerful. There’s no point saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of this to Loras, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why tell me any of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Renly Baratheon is just a man, as was Arthur Dayne. He wouldn’t have killed Aerys, even though he witnessed all the same deeds as me. Does that make me a better man than him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...don’t know,” she admits, “It’s not so neatly cut. You’re just a man, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension in the line of Jaime’s shoulders eases and he sighs, “I should’ve known that you’re too practical to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever--</span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne, can you come here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walks the few paces to the bench. Jaime stands and pulls Brightroar from its scabbard. The rubies in the hilt sparkles in the sun almost more than Jaime’s hair. Brenne stares at the swirls in the blade, but doesn’t quite understand why he’s drawn it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A knight can make knight,” Jaime repeats, “I’m a knight, and you long to be one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne thinks her heart should be racing but instead it feels like it's stopped. In fact, she raises her hand to her chest to make sure she can feel it drumming under her skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You--You </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you not want it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not...I’m a </span>
  <em>
    <span>woman,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she protests, “No one will accept it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Contrary, Jaime says, “I’ll accept it. You’ll accept it. Olenna will accept it. I can’t change what the whole of Westeros believes, but I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d really?” Brienne’s voice is so soft, she doubts Jaime even heard. She looks at her boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime tilts her chin up so their eyes meet, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Absolutely. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You deserve it more than I did at fifteen. I was skilled, but it made me arrogant. There should be more to knighthood than proving yourself in a single battle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-But I haven’t proven anything…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve proven that you’ve the spirit. The deeds will follow that. Let me, please. I’d only ask one thing in return.” Jaime’s voice lowers at the last sentence, and there’s a line of worry between his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you ask of me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s to be no debt between us for the deed. It’s something you deserve, and I’m sorry that it has to be the Kingslayer who does it. If you </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> be grateful, see it as a gift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A gift,” Brienne repeats in a whisper, “Others will see it has favoritism, or a token meant to woo me. They won’t take it seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a token. You can’t be courted with falsehoods. I witnessed what happens to men who do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne laughs, a snort, and presses her fingers to her mouth to stop herself. “I understand your intentions. I wanted you to believe in me the moment you handed me your favor and told me to seek vengeance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime laughs, “You’re pragmatic, and a bit older than Loras or I was, but I know you respect Renly a great deal, too. You’d have been happy if he was the one. I don’t...I’m not a hero, and I don’t want to be one. I’m just a man. You’ve earned this, and I’ll do it either way, but I don’t want it to change things between us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re insufferable,” Brienne replies, “You’re clingy and a bit vain and arrogant. You preen for attention, and you aren’t honest with yourself </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> with those around you. I won’t stop seeing those things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ow,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime raises his left hand to his chest, clutching it in mock-anguish. “To hear my myriad faults laid out so cruelly by my own betrothed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It must be hard to hear the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A touch,” Jaime replies, “but you made your point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, then. Kneel, Brienne of Tarth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime’s voice has the </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact</span>
  </em>
  <span> same cadence as if he was asking her to kneel in her chamber with much less clothing on. Brienne would listen then, so she listens now. Knees pressed to the grass, she looks up at Jaime. The sunlight rings his head like a halo.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A knight. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaime looks like one from a song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brienne,” Jaime shakes his head like he’s chiding her, “this is a solemn rite. Are you thinking something perverse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve made me forget all the words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t taunt me </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime clears his throat and straightens up; Brightroar is heavy on Brienne’s right shoulder. “Brienne of Tarth, </span>
  <span>do you swear before the eyes of gods and men to defend those who cannot defend themselves, to protect all women and children. Do you swear to…” Jaime hesitates and wrinkles his nose in distaste, “...obey people who assign you deeds that are worthy of honor, and to choose to do what you deem right, even if it conflicts. Do you swear to fight bravely when needed, and do such other tasks as are laid upon you, however hard or humble or dangerous they may be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A grin nearly splits her face in two when Jaime moves Brightroar to her right shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then arise, Ser Brienne of Tarth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne obeys that command, too. Jaime lowers Brightroar to his side and looks supremely self-satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You changed the vows, didn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scratches the back of his head, “I may have taken some...liberties. Sometimes, the person you’ve sworn to obey or protect asks you to do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was barely a man-grown when I pledged unconditional allegiance to a mad man. I won’t make you swear to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> do the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You taught me oaths aren’t so straightforward,” Brienne whispers, “I...I liked your vows. They felt good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can make up some marriage vows in the thick of the ceremony, if you’re keen on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t promise obedience,” Brienne raises her chin in defiance, “but I don’t think you’d ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ser.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing the title addressed </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, somehow, feels more real than the oaths had. It’s the tangible result of the rite. The emotions coursing through her are a bit hard to pin down, and Brienne feels tears burning behind her eyes. Jaime, noticing her state, replaces Brightroar in its scabbard and holds his hand out to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here, you look as though you could use an embrace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne lets him fold her into his arms, chin resting on his shoulder. It’s silly, but she never feels ungainly when Jaime holds her. She takes a few deep breaths to steady herself, and it stops the tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she mumbles into Jaime’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I certainly didn’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Arthur Dayne afterwards,” Jaime chuckles, “I think he would’ve had quite a fright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The image makes Brienne laugh, too. “I can imagine it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I certainly didn’t do </span>
  <em>
    <span>this, </span>
  </em>
  <span>either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime kisses her, which is lovely, but then he rests his hand on her back and dips her like he might if they were dancing. Brienne scrambles to put her arms around his neck, trusting that he won’t drop her. She would drag Jaime with her if he attempted, but her stomach still drops. He returns them to standing after a moment, but she’s too lost in the feel of the kiss to really pay it much mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Ser,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaime repeats, and, suddenly, warmth floods Brienne the idea of Jaime calling her that during a much more inappropriate moment. “I hope your knighthood doesn’t make you realize you’re leagues beyond me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...It won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I hope you’ll still let me call you my lady.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know who else I’d let call me so many things </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> than my name.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Being a knight seemed impossible, but spending the next quarter-hour kissing Jaime on a derelict garden bench seems a fairly ridiculous follow-up. The bench is much too small for two people of their size to be smashed together on, but somehow they manage to tangle together and fit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime rests one leg on the ground, the other bent on the seat, and pulls Brienne against his chest. The way his back is resting against the arm can’t be luxurious, but she finds the warm expanse of Jaime’s chest quite comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ser,” Jaime mumbles against her lips, “I think this garden is </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> secluded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the third or fourth time Jaime has called her </span>
  <em>
    <span>ser,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and a little thrill goes through Brienne each time. She wants to be recognized, but thinks she could so enjoy a span of time hearing the honorific only from his lips. Realistically, it’s likely to be the case, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re implying something,” Brienne replies, “just tell me plainly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s a waste of an afternoon if we don’t continue with this activity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t much more straightforward, especially for Jaime, but Brienne takes the hint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you...are you implying we should…” Brienne takes a breath through her nose; a knight shouldn’t balk at a word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“...fuck?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime breaks out into peals of laughter and tugs her closer. Brienne revels in the fact that he seems particularly carefree. “I don’t think you’ve ever called it that, wench.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so we’re back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>wench </span>
  </em>
  <span>so soon,” she gives a scowl that sends Jaime laughing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll cycle through your endearments freely,” he answers, “We’ve the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Or</span>
  </em>
  <span> you could put that mouth to better use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Bossy,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaime mumbles, but then he fits their mouths together in a way that’s become so familiar, yet still thrills her. The first thing Brienne notices is Jaime’s hand untying the cord holding her braid loose. The braid is a wispy thing, and comes done mostly of its own accord, with Jaime’s fingers finishing the task. Then, he scratches his fingers against her scalp, and Brienne sighs contentedly. “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> so eager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime tries to burrow his hands under her clothes, but quickly comes to the same conclusion as she does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eagerness aside,” she says, “This isn’t going to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The lady is correct </span>
  <em>
    <span>again,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime sighs, “Stand up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Brienne does, Jaime reaches for the laces on her breeches. Brienne can’t help but chuckle at Jaime being so equally eager than his hands fumble. “Boots,” he commands, and they work in tandem until Brienne is bare from the waist down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s efficient and not sensual in the slightest, and Brienne doesn’t mind at all. Jaime looks her up and down, once, and all the heat in her body pools between her thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we test the mettle of this bench, ser? It was here when I was a boy.” Jaime bounces against the wood, testing it, “It held us seated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’ll trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime is much less fumbling at freeing himself from his breeches. He doesn’t even pull them down more than necessary for the task at hand. When he looks back up, he’s flushed and wide-eyed. Brienne believes, wholly, that it’s for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I find myself a bit impatient,” he glances away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Brienne agrees, and as quickly as she can, she straddles his lap on the bench, hands on Jaime’s shoulders. He reaches for his cock, lining himself up, and groans quite dramatically when Brienne sinks down onto him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jaime agrees, nodding fervently, “exactly...that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rough wood of the bench digs into her knees, a mild discomfort when compared to the feeling of Jaime filling her. He slides his hands up her thighs, over her hips, finally settling on grabbing her backside and eliminating any space between them. This position felt awkward, at first, but Brienne has grown confident through repetition and the way Jaime seems to be taken out of himself when she controls the movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne starts slow, barely moving at all and keeping Jaime fully seated within her. He sighs and rests his forehead against her chest, parting her shirt with his nose to rest against her bare skin. When she increases the arc of her motion, he clings to her so tightly she’s almost impeded by it. There’s a bolt of pleasure at the end of each pass that makes Brienne grip Jaime in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Gods,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jaime mumbles her into her skin, “you’re making it so good for me. Can you give me more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you---” Jaime thrusts his hips up to meet hers, and it’s so intense she loses her words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me some room to move,” she finishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime’s cheeks are flushed when she leans against the back of the bench. Brienne half expects him to rest his arms lazily across the back like before, looking entirely too composed. He keeps them at her hips, drawing gentle circles with his thumbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There,” he says simply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne nods, once, and this time her movements are forceful. She lifts herself off Jaime’s cock and lets her weight carry her back down, growing more intense with each pass until she’s the one twisting her fingers in Jaime’s shirt. The feeling shoots up her spine, making her shudder and moan. Jaime lets his head fall back, baring his throat to her. Brienne leans in and kisses his jaw, runs her tongue along the tendons in his neck while Jaime thrashes under her and guides her hips with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so strong,” he babbles, “and it makes--</span>
  <em>
    <span>gods,</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweetling, it makes everything feel so fucking--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abruptly, the wood groans in protest, and the bench gives way beneath them. They’re pitched backward as the wood splits, and they land in a heap on grass and broken wood. Jaime gives a high-pitched squawk that Brienne will </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> laugh at later. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Seven hells,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne curses. They’re still connected, but Brienne has her hands on either side of Jaime’s head, and her bare knees are scraping against the broken wood. “I think we have our answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love it when you swear,” Jaime reaches up to touch her cheek, “You always save it for </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the best moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose,” she says, shifting a bit so there’s a ripple of pleasure between them, “the bench gave us it’s answer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A noble death. We’ll make it’s sacrifice worthwhile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime gestures to the empty span of grass beside them, “By redoubling our efforts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After some shifting, and a rather coordinated roll that Brienne might consider a feat of athleticism, her back is pressed into the soft, summer grass, and Jaime is glowing golden above her. He pushes forward, a single stroke, and it’s not the same as when she’s atop him, but it steals her breath in the exact same manner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better,” she sighs, “closer to the ground.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless the grass takes offense, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne’s only response is a shiver of pleasure as she cedes control of their pace to Jaime, who seems to favor steady, but maddeningly slow passes. Brienne wraps her legs around his back, and even the shift of their remaining clothes against her bare skin is a pleasant friction. Jaime settles his weight against her and kisses her, slowly and sweetly in time with his thrusts, and everything melts, warm in the afternoon sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re perfect,” Jaime whispers against her lips, “and I’m so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jaime.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, it feels like saying Jaime’s name, when things are near the end like this, is all it takes. He shakes apart above her, then after a few stuttering, final thrusts, spills into Brienne and collapses, boneless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth finds its way to her jaw, open-mouthed kisses that leave her skin damp. “Do you want more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime’s retreat leaves her empty and wanting more, and it takes until his cheek is pressed against her bare thigh for Brienne to realize what he’s doing. Brienne’s knees are bent, thighs spread as wide as Jaime can push them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“J-Jaime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He practically hums in happiness, working his way to the apex of her thighs. When Jaime is close enough that she can feel his breath against her overwrought skin, he says, “I love looking at your cunt like this, but let me clean up my mess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne moans at his words, long before the tip of Jaime’s tongue dips into her. She covers her face with her arm to hide her mortification. He chuckles, low in his throat, and it makes Brienne desperate for the wet heat of his tongue. She reaches for Jaime’s head, nudging him closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> please don’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--Don’t stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask nicely,” Jaime lilts, “Begging might not hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne gives in, asking, </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaime to fuck her with his tongue, to lick her cunt until there’s no trace left of him, until she’s shaking with the need of her own release. Her pride doesn’t matter here; there’s not an inch of space left for it to worm its way between the two of them. It’s quite freeing, to forget to care entirely about how she looks or the moans that are leaving her. Jaime might wince at her fingers twisted in his hair, but he keeps up his unforgiving pace, sliding his unoccupied hand under her top to knead at her breasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need--” she starts, but the rest gives way to a shout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you need,” Jaime answers, “but I want to hear you say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M-make me come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, ser, I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smug. </span>
  </em>
  <span>So smug that Brienne wants to beat him, even though there’s no hope of doing so. Jaime finishes her with startling efficiency, short flicks of his tongue against her cunt that make her thrash under him and beg for more. He talks her through her climax, soft endearments murmured against her skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, he crawls to lay beside her in the grass and kisses her aimlessly. Brienne wraps her arms around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that...an adequate celebration… for your knighthood?” Jaime asks between kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...I nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>forgot,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Brienne replies, wondering how red her cheeks are, “but yes...yes, I’d say it was.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>A few days later, Olenna is perched on her usual chair in her solar. Brienne thinks she looks more commanding of respect than King Robert had at the head table during the tourney or the wedding feast. When she was small, Brienne always thought her father looked like a king of old in Evenfall's great hall. Long ago, he used to tell her, the ruler of Tarth </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a king.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You came quickly," Olenne says to both of them, "Even though it took a fair few minutes to locate you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We were...engaged," Jaime replies vaguely, "but have I ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> answered your summons?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You take your sweet time to come to your senses, boy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaime perches in the chair next to Olenna, and Brienne takes the loveseat she chose the first time she entered this room. It still looks too dainty, but it holds. Unfortunately, it reminds her of an ill-fated bench deep within one of Highgarden's uncountable gardens. Jaime made a toast to it's sacrifice when they dined together that evening, and it was just as dramatic and ridiculous as Brienne assumed it would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ducks her head to hide her smile. Olenna will demand to know </span>
  <em>
    <span>why, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and while Jaime could deliver that story with enough confidence and aplomb, Brienne isn't so skilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I only have the sense you bestowed upon me, Olenna," Jaime replies, "and the Seven know you tried your damndest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven knows I did," Olenna agrees, laughing, "and you didn't make it easy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The affection between the two of them is there--veiled but strong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Where's the fun in that? I assumed you didn't want your ward to be too agreeable."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olenna laughs more openly; the sound makes her seem two decades younger. "Enough about you, boy. It's Lady Brienne I wanted to see."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh," Brienne looks up to find Olenna's pointed gaze directed at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's not just </span>
  <em>
    <span>lady </span>
  </em>
  <span>any longer," Jaime boasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It...it still is." Brienne wants to be both; Jaime makes her feel like she's both. "Lady Olenna can call me whatever she pleases."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You choose well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally." </span>
  </em>
  <span>Olenna's praise seems rare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," Jaime stops slouching in his chair and sounds even more smug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olenna looks at Brienne, "It's good to have another sensible woman in my company, especially now that Margaery has gone to Storm's End."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I...I'm not so...thank you, but I'm not sure I'm so sensible."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More so than Jaime. He put his sword on your shoulders and made you swear a silly oath </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> he took you to a sept, yet the two of you have been carrying on for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span> like birds in the spring--" Olenna looks between the two of them and sighs. "Your priorities, Jaime."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne isn't in too much of a hurry to be a bride; although, she'll welcome it when the time is right. The half-composed letter to her father is still on her desk. She'll need to send it, soon, so Renly won't be the one to tell her father of her choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What will he think of my being a knight? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The thought of him knowing makes Brienne's heart pound. She isn't sure she's ready to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I stand by the order of my choices," Jaime says, "the sept will still be there."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suppose the damage, if you choose to see it that way, is done. People's tongues will stop wagging soon and turn to the next distraction," Olenna says, "What will the two of you do now?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Stay here," Jaime shrugs, "and help </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ser</span>
  </em>
  <span> Brienne make a name for herself. Do you know any good deeds fit for Westeros’s first lady knight?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brienne's mind wanders. They could go on an adventure worthy of a knight. She could help people who couldn't help themselves. She could pick who she followed and what she chose, with Jaime at her side. It seems so much brighter a future than serving Renly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure we can find something suitable." Olenna's tone turns sly, "But first, I think it's time to finally pen a letter to Tywin Lannister."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few moments for Jaime to collect his jaw off the floor.“You’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> written to him? What are you going to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your father always pestered me for updates about you, but I always evaded him." Olenna gives a toothless grin, "I think I'll finally tell him you grew up to be a fine man by my assessment. I'm sure he'll </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>that."</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have a new fic already queued up to post, so I'll see all of you next week.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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